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The HOUSE of KUPPENHEIMER 


CHICAGO 





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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 



























































(¢2) 
+4 
e 20, a Day __ROBT. . ING ERSOLL & & BRO., Mew Your, CHICA AGO, SAN “FRANCISCO, Monreal 6 Million a Year 
é ee —= = 
~ “ ‘ Yq’ es > < ‘a a) oO) » ‘oO 
Mr. and Mrs. . + oe “a BRIGGS Simple Excellence 
By F. P. A. 
Horact Book I, Ope 38 
trae ae 
No fancy foreign watch for me, 
For uch I have n sr 
Why blow my jack on jewelry? 
I might as well be iving 
; , m_ ~ ° Beneath this vine, my bov, we'll loll 
A New Year’s Greeting Leshieg for words to thyme with- 
By Carotyn WeELLs Me with my Yankee Ing 
‘ ~» doll the time ¢ 
Ingersoll Watch, you ar truly a miracle! Phat I can tell tl with 
I can assert, of my knowledge empirical; 
Fain would I offer you eulogies lyrical— 
in would you logies 1¢@ a 
i é i » 
Of ail the limekeepers, you are top- O I EMI OR A! 
notch. 5 NEXT DAY By Trev Rowsinson 
Just to pf ot akes life > en- MET AAMT AN GER : 
‘ 10Y ake : a oe 2 puta _{« S HALF \ RADIOCLITE 7 My grandsire was a wealthy wight, 
And your assistance i ever employable, . PAST Four ' He had a _ R peater 
Al 0, you com to be quite undestroyable: feigned to te the time at night, 
/ ‘s “ " A. ak Tueers i And yet it was a cheater 
ary ¢ . po wre 1gerso With ringing tick, with tiny tock, 
at W th tinkling, lying lau hter, 
Time he test of them, It used to say “twas two o'clock 
You are the f them, When it was quarter after! 
You tt rest of them, ‘ 
Fren t r Scotch; (CHORUS 
Ron ye em He never saw a Radiolite, that Q 
( cheer to you, | lovely little Lady o’ Light 4 
yp of the sphere to you! | whe, 
/.t" phere lo you | Whose candid spark throughout { | 
’ Hoops ew Year to you \ ’ 
Ing ’ Watch! . ; ” | the dark would tell A 
1 f ahi the truth exactly Co” 
A Busy Man to His Mistress My Ingersoll He never felt a pleasure like mine, he neve 
> . ¢ lad a treasure like mir 
on wr oY > , } ; : 
IT DIDN’T KNOW By Cuaistorner Morey By Berton Brarey Which clocks by night and watches by light, 
‘ Amid the feyer of my days, You mark the hours o simply and compactly! 
By K. C. B.. ——__ Amid thetumult, long hours through, for me, good friend. a nee mee ey 
: n ‘ oung, down on the f; 
IN A vest it was. | AND BEING a| None know the secret of my ways You tell the minutes, had leleved Wisc the dichens. 
wep et & vd red like the dickens, 
i _ . | a And how, in stress, I turn to you. one and all. lu 1 to have a tin Alarm 
iM -A ocket tiaht. | * * Who guesses, in the market place, : To wake me with the chickens 
I Il DID’ T know. Or what companion understands Yet nothing for repairs I never had a watch at all, 
gy Oy r * * How I am guided by your face, on you I spend, 4 watch would cost like thunder 
: ore ° 1 4 t 
W HERI IT lay ma WH E N THEY Controlled by your small, slender hands? — es For this was long ere Ingersoll 
sa: a turned it ahead. How luminous, when we keep tryst, 7 agers Produced his timely wonder 
aye . * * You shine through darkest circumstance: 
— | THAT IT hadn’ I feel you softly touch my wrist, I ach hour exact, each second right, (CHORUS) 
night. —s And read your message at a glance. Upon your face the time I mark A — But now | have a Radiolite, 
. @oe run slow. : Your dial with its glowing Radiolite , my lovely little Lady o’ 
; ae Out of the night that covers me, Tells came at dast ras a acy 0 
WAS TAKEN out AND ITS littl Black as the pit to common sight, : =r \) \ y \ Light 
| ved . ittle You tell me what the time may be, ik eich inks ; th fall : dy ‘ ly Two in-One, Pony _> 
. pee watch heart. , . : 7 i y atches shatter when wy fall, »“ it to-none, the nights and days 
AND HUNG on a Se ; Unconquerable eg : cae daek iadieeh od fetta AN ¢ oreo a 
h 7 t matters not with whom the date, ] » s ge * _ 
ook WAS FILLED with With ] sa cies cen cues Hila aor i Whatever task is set you—Ingersoll, By her my hours are reckoned at night, she 
- ‘ g I ’ You come across watches every second at nigh 
, , shame. I will be there, I'll not be late \ ; ; RS HF OtGae; 
WHERE EYES -- = 2 ES . ly watch, She tells me when to rise, and then goes 
I have my good old Ingersoll Y ' 
might turn. FOR IT felt in its ; ou come across with me in the morning! 
> © 8 works. Paha : a —— 
AND TAKE a look. . @&s WAL T MAS SON SAYS 
, . a a . & 
a THAT IT was to ; ; ; 
AND SO it ran | blame. Oh, sad and bitter was the night, when in the bed I'd loll, before I bought 
ee Piaeah a Radiolite, that’s made by Ingersoll. I always take three beeswax 
BUT Ol : : 
IN ITS faithful way. © all os it! pills each hour, by night and day, to check the fever and the chills, | 
wasn’t. : ) . C 
ee eS ea and drive the same away. And in the silent night I'd wake in darkness | 
WITH NEVER a| THE SILLY young | dense and thick, and say “It’s surely time to take those pills that heal 
change dear the sick.”” Then I would leave my downy bed that I might see the clock, 
. & s oe and on the wall I’d bump my head with sore and grievous knock; the : 
TILL THERE w IT RAN right on. hanging plant, all unawares, would bash me on the crown, and I'd fall any 
* * * . T . 
a day. say 00 ; over silly chairs and knock the pictures down. Night after night in ray * Watch Out! we 
.s es 6 | S ’ . ») i ‘7 
a tick was | less gloom, o’er furniture I’d climb, I broke my legs and wrecked thi (C DJ ’ - - 
WHEN ITS master clear. ont ca cy : 
peat oe « — and had the blamedest time. But now I do not dread the night, for f ). Goon B in) 
d : ” “ , Y KA 
— AND IT said to| me it has no ills, I’m told by my good “Radiolite” just when to tak yr pac. cn 
j ’ ir SS 
AND IT heard hin itself my ville. | do not have to <i my coud h, one glance suffice s me, ana 
aan. ine: morning finds me free from grouch, and full of pills fnd glee. ices sleds and tone, a1 loss ¢ 
. &6 “THIS WILL never | Like that, ma 'S8, Re ther b 
“AN HOUR of night. | a 6 6 «@ i ans ee ee ae is I like a usefuller machin 
+ * * ad 5 N Ingerso N With wheel ind thing know what I mean 
| : | “I’M AN Ingersoll. Old Sol Never Sets on Ingersoll Sod ci clues than akee Gar ieee 
— A hour of | aon a <. &. fee OF a ! / 
play. | AND I> must run | ; 
¢* + * | true | The student at his midnight mp The cowboy nding with the |} a | ! gy, like t t, 
‘ y | The trapper in his snow-bound hut, The fisher t ‘ tl \ ts, bir t e that; 
We The husky in the lumber camp, I} het that t t t t hy But v1 there I 
= TURN (IT ey The grader in the r F curt | Chink that tin t reer t \ + t ty t 
Y“AHEAD AN HOUR) gods, Sit “cgplmatomegenty iomonnitea cdg pore ‘ 
== UR) BTS: | Each scans an Ingersoll to know In heat team, ; le never faila, it’s 
How fast the irksome mor ts go. All trust t watch, without t My I: 
Amid the Kansas threshing scer It’s on the naked bush boy’s art Let other | 
An Ingersoll from sweaty jean And ity wears it a ! At games, at vol, at cit I 
Is yanked upon its leather charr An ar t that ca tf | Well known for being right pnt 
se . And joy! ‘tis noon. The whist Re \ rs k NW it t | Don't be a Goof N 
I THANK you. wy American And laughing to the feast they ¢ Fhis Ingersoll that times the | . G t a wat in Ir ! 
o 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 


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Published Weekly 


The Curtis Publishing 
Company 


Cyrus H. K. Curtis, President 


C. 4. Ludington, Vice-President end Treasurer 
P. S. Collins, General Business Manager 
Walter D. Fuller, Secretery 
William Boyd, Advertising Director 


Independence Squere, Philadelphia 
London: 6, Henrietta Street 
Covent Garden, W.C. 





THE SATURDAY 
EVENING POST 


Founded A’D' 1728 Sy Benj. Franklin 


Copyright. 1921, by the Curtis Publishing Company in the United States end Great Britain 


George Horace Lorimer 
EDITOR 
Churchill Williams, F. S. Bigelow, 
A.W. Neall, Arthur McNeogh., 
E. Dinsmore, 
Associate Editors 


Entered as Second-Cless Matter, Noverber 18, 
i879, at the Post Office at Philadelphia, 
Under the Act of March 3, 1879 
Additions! Entry es Second-Cless Matter 
at Columbus, Ohio 


Entered os Second-Cless Matter at the 
Post- Office Department, Ortewa, Canada 








Volume 193 Se. = 


10c. in Canada 


PHILADELPHIA, PA., JANUARY 1, 1921 


$2.50 THE YEAR 


by Subsecription 


Number 27 





T 


<DFORD MILLS was one of those 
very rare people—a happy man. It 
was no drudgery to Beddy, as every- 


one called him, tostand all day behind 
a wicket at the Pocahontas Na- 
tional Bank and pass out soiled 





By Lloyd Osbourne <*« 


TLELVUSTRATEDO Br 


an old New Yorker pushed aside with his old 
York nose in the air. Pride was the 
breath of an old New Yorker's nostrils; a pride 
as exquisitely concealed as the temper of a 


damascened blade. Helen's 
mother was dead, and she lived 





DOUGLAS RYAN 





pieces of green paper to greedy 
paws. He had no idea of re- 
pining at his lot; he cherished no 
stifled ambitions. He arrived 
whistling and left whistling, and 
cheerfully read the evening paper 
in the Subway jam, unmindful of 
elbows in his ribs. The abstract 
had never touched Bedford Mills; 
he was a stranger to all specula- 
tive questionings; he was inno- 
cent of any knowledge of books 
or pictures or music or social 
problems. In his attractive com- 
monplaceness he took everything 
for granted, conforming respect- 
fully to every tribal custom. If 
he had ever heard the word “ cul- 
ture’’—which he hadn’t—it 
would have conjured up some- 
thing vaguely German and men- 
acing. 

He was twenty-six; a tall, 
fair, well-set-up young fellow, 
with girlish blue eyes that could 
look very keenly at a doubtful 
check and a pleasant mouth that 
was always ready to part over 
exceptionally white teeth; and 
he could say odd, shy, impulsive 
things—usually to a girl—witha 
sideway smile that was extraor- 
dinarily winning. Beddy really 
did not know how winning that 
smile was or what havoc it had 
caused in many a pretty bosom. 
Perhaps he was too modest, or 
too cautious, to find out. Young 
as he was, he had seen so many 
unhappy marriages that he con- 
sidered himself disillusioned. 
That was why, perhaps, when 
the time came, he fell so madly 
in love with Helen Jessop. 

No young man was likely to 
be very cautious where Helen 
Jessop was Such 
lovely, slender, radiant blondes 
swirl a young man off his feet 
like a Kansas cyclone, and at 
the slightest hint of preference 
his heart is lost forever. Beddy, 
in his simple parlance, had been 
a goner from the moment he had 
first met Helen; he had swirled 


concert ed. 





alone with her father in a charm- 
ing old house on the north side of 
Washington Square. Fifth Ave- 
nue had long ago become too 
vulgar for St. John Jessop. It 
had ceased to be a street where a 
Helen's 
father never made such remarks 


gentleman could live. 
snappishly; he was no choleric 
old gentleman with a growling 
voice and an expansive waist 
coat St. John Jessop was far 
toosilken and courtly and urbane 
for anything so uncouth. Tall 
and slender, with aristocratic 
hands and a deceptively gen- 
such re- 
proaches with a deprecatory air, 


tle manner, he uttered 


as of one who hated to object to 
anything 

Nothing less than a World 
War could have given Beddy 
Mills the entrée to such a house 
as the Jessops’. But in the gen- 
eral topsy-turvydom of ‘18 all 
sorts of unheard-of things hap- 
pened and all sorts of lambs lay 
down with all sorts of lions in a 
bewildering confusion. Beddy, 
in a military hospital, had been 
invited, together with fifty-nine 
other convalescents, to attend an 
afternoon party at the Jessops’. 
It was a do-something-for-the- 
poor-boys party, with ice cream, 
cigars and opera singers; and 
Beddy, quite 
had made a sensation by fainting 


unintentionaily, 


in the most public way possible 
This was probably due to the 
close air and the amplitude of 
ice cream, but in the emotion of 
that emotional period it took on 
teddy, in 


carried 


a more heroic aspect 
spite of his protests, wa 
toa resplendent guest room and 


glorious! im 


was kept thers 
prisoned for three never-to-be- 
forgotten day 

On leaving, he had been 


warmly pressed to call when he 





grew better, Mr. Jessop murmur 


] 





into the air, military boots spurs 
and all, and had never really 
come down again 

Of course Helen was not nearly so much an angel as she looked. 
a Cupid’s-bow mouth and a face of sparkling purity do not always imply wings 
least in New York. Helen was too fashionable, too sophisticated for any great warmth 
of nature. She was a very intelligent, highly cultivated, self-centered young woman of 
twenty-three who set an inordinate value on herself and kept her heart in cold storage. 
It must be admitted that her own good opinion of herself was well justified. Not only 
had she beauty—the beauty that made people gape on the street — but those accessories 
that become it so admirably, wealth and distinguished social position. 

The Jessops were old New York, to whom half the owners of parterre boxes at the 
wretched strap hangers in the social system, whom 


Golden hair and 
not at 


opera were merely moneyed upstarts 


Heten Was Too Fashionable, Too Sophisticated for Any Great Warmth of Nature 


ing something about Beddy al 
ways considering 17 Washington 
Square as his second home; and 
lovely, radiant Helen, in be 
witching Red Cross costume, 


held hi 
hospital and occasionally smoothed his coal and unfevered brow, while his heart, 
pitapating crazily with joy. He was desperately in ‘ove; 
and in his unquenchable optimism and ignorance 


hand all the way to the 
whit } 
really needed attention, wa 
the three glorious days had settled that; 
of the world, and lulled besides into false security by magazine fiction, which in the 
hospital was devoured in vast quantities, he dreamed of it all coming right and pictured 
with a palpitating tenderness the appropriate course of his romance. 

Had she not held his hand? Had she not often stooped over him till her lips almost 
touched his hair? Had she not extorted from him, with transparent craft, that there 
was no other in his affections? And on the strictly practical side, had he not a 
four-hundred-dollar-a-month position held open for him at the Pocahontas National Bank? 








And had he not in American Moth Balls preferred and 
Candy common and some Liberties a little fortune 
of eleven thousand dollars that had come to him from an 


aunt? What 


him even 


did a happy young optimist need to 
make happier and more optimistic? Nothing! 
He had love and youth and ardor; health, and an excellent 
of several coveted medals won 


more 


position; and the prestige 


by gallantry in the Argonne 
He read the snippets of verse he had always disregarded 
before and was astonished at their pro- 


in the magazines, 





fundity and understanding 
Some of these snippets plumbed 
depths that he thought were his 
alone, and stirred him immeas- 
urably. The “he” of course was 
alwa himself, and the he” 
was likewise Helen Je Op; and 
though the nippet were often 
sad, they were tremendously re 
assuring People died a great 
deal in snippets, but their hearts 
were always tru and Beddy 
was agreeably impressed at the 
ease with which the heroines 
were won, and stayed won 
often at the cost of their blighted 
live 


He had called after leaving the 
hospital, and had been pleasantly 


received and invited to dinner 
But though Helen had been very 
sweet to him, he was conscious 
that something intangible had 
intervened. In his simplicity he 
did not realize that a young bank 
clerk is a very different person 
from a khaki-clad hero. But he 


was cruelly disappointed never- 
theles The aristocratic old 
house seemed to wear a formida- 
ble air, and his host and hostess 
had in some way receded from 
him. Had Helen not squeezed 
his hand at parting he would 
never have come again 

But he did come again at her 
express invitation; came and 
came, and often sat cozily with 


her for hours in the 
which she had 
He was utterly at a 
understand her 


music room, 
her own 


loss to 


made 


She could be so 


melting and so distant in per- 


plexing alternations; yet of real 


advance there was none. Once 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


genealogies and 


my ancestors! I hate ancestors and 
this everlasting bowing down to the family joss! 

Beddy, much encouraged, murmured a typical common- 
place about the plain people. 

But that was not what Helen meant at all. She disavowed 
it with pink in her cheeks. All that the plain people were 
made for was to be walked on; to work and fill the back- 
ground of life. What she longed for was the ideal man. 

Beddy was dismayed at the intrusion of this horrid 
stranger, whose existence in Helen’s heart he had long 








January 1,192! 


Helen rippled invo :aughter. The examples seemed to 
amuse her immensely, or perhaps it was the jaundiced 
tone with which they were submitted to her. 

“All I meant was that I simply couldn’t love a man 


whose name wasn’t known,” she said. “I want people to 
turn round and look at me when they hear whose wife I 
am. If I can’t marry a Man Who!I’Il never marry anybody.” 


When Beddy walked home that evening his head was in 
a whirl. He had to become a Man Who, and how the 
dickens was he to do it? For 
weeks it had been becoming clear 
to him in many rankling ways 
that Helen’s preference for him 
was hardly more than the caprice 
of a spoiled young queen for a 
poor clod of a fellow who made 
her laugh. Somehow he was al- 
ways able to do that, though not 
wholly unaware that it was his 
boyishness and unsophistication 
which served to entertain her. 
But compared with the court- 
ships in magazine fiction, it wasa 
dreadful failure. It had never 
advanced at all. In fact there 
had been a positive retrogression 
since the time he was a wounded 
hero and she the outward sem- 
blance of a Red Cross nurse. 

With corrugating brows and 
tightening lips, he resolved to be- 
come a Man Who. It was his 
only chance. He had to succeed 
or lose Helen forever. She had 
shown him the way to her heart, 
like a fairy princess in a legend, 
never dreaming that he might 
take her at her word. And he 
had at least one of the qualifica- 
tions already—he wasn’t bald 
Well, he would surprise her. He 
would scale the castle wall and 
say; ‘‘ Here I am, Bedford Mills, 
the Man Who!” Had he not 
succeeded in everything he had 
ever put his hand to? Had he 
not brains, ability, determina- 
tion? Had he not the leverage 
of eleven thousand dollars, which 
was probably more than most of 
the Men Who possessed before 
they started? The only essential 
thing he lacked was an idea. 

It was a head-racking busiress 











he had caught her in his arms 
and kissed her passionately, hold- 
ing her till her panting breath fanned his cheek and her 
eyes closed in what seemed an exquisite submission. But 
a moment later she disengaged herself and, moving a little 
apart, gazed at him with lovely, troubled eyes. 

“I don’t want to make a mountain of this,” 
*L suppose it is what people doin your milieu, but in mine 
it is apt to lead to the immediate end of an acquaintance. 
If we are to continue friends, Beddy dear, you must never 
do such a thing again— never, never, never!” 

Beddy could not answer a word, but stood there, so glum 
and miserable and stricken that he wished the floor might 
But at least he was not so stupid as 


she said. 


open under his feet 
to apologize 

‘I don’t know how to love a girl without wanting to kiss 
“If you drive a man mad with 
longing you can’t expect him to sit quietly on a chair like 
cap. 1—1 suppose it is nothing to you 
that I love you better than anything in the world, and © 

He could get no further; the words were already quaver- 
ing. He 
Helen come over to him and, with a half-playful, half 


her,”’ he blurted out at last 


an old lady in a lace 


might have been more humiliated still had not 


tender gesture, placed both hands on his shoulder. Worldly 
though she was, she was touched by his sincerity. The 
love of being loved is deep in every woman. Besides, 


Helen did care— just a little 
“Is it as bad as that?” she asked with a ghost of a smile 
“Worse,” Beddy, comforted in spite of himself 


“The more I come here the more I realize how utterly out 


said 


of my reach you ar 


“No girl is out of any man’s react aid Heler ‘But 


of course 1 am terribly high up on the wall, and the one 
that gets me will have to be quite a porch climber.” 

The troublk ou have everything,”’ remarked Beddy 
after he had been given one end of the couch and told to be 
good, and after he had been told he might smoke a ciga- 
rette if that would make him gooder. “ The most successful 
man in the world could not give you more than you have.’ 

‘Oh, ves, he could!” exclaimed Helen, moving nearer, 
and with the animation she always showed when speaking 
about herself If only vou knew how I long to be 


lip of old New York 


living on 





Beddy Hardty Knew What He Said—it Was All So Gay 
and Happy and Unexpected and Delightful 


been suspecting. But he was evidently expected to ask 
about him, and so asked. 

“It’s a stupid word, of course,” replied Helen, in the 
prettiest of preoccupations for a better. “What I mean is 
somebody who has done something tremendous— whose 
name is a household word, and all that. The Man Who, 
you know. I would walk over red-hot plowshares, like a 
girl in a fairy tale, to be the wife of a Man Who.” 

Beddy was mystified; mystified and depressed. He was 
painfully conscious that Helen, as far as he was concerned, 
was demanding the impossible. That his unattainable be- 
loved should be talking of walking over red-hot plowshares 
for somebody else was indescribably smarting to his spirit. 
He gazed dismally at those trim, small feet, with their 
enticing dove-colored stockings, and for once found no 
pleasure in them. Were they not willing to walk over red- 
hot plowshares for the Man Who? Never had she seemed 
remoter from the fondest wish of his heart. 

“IT don’t understand,” he remarked at 
exactly do you mean by a Man Who?” 

“Who has done something, of course,”’ Helen answered, 
ecstatic but scornful. “To my mind it is the greatest title 
in the world. Have you never been to some wonderful 
party and had people pointed out to you like that? 
That's Massenet, the man who composed Thais; that’s 
Marconi, the man who invented wireless; that’s Amund- 
the man the South Pole; that’s 
Kovalsikoff, the man who shot the archduke. Oh, what is 
any prince or earl, or old New Yorker for that matter, 
compared with a Man Who! Any nice-looking one who 
wasn't bald could have me as easily as calling a taxicab.” 

Beddy was shocked. The comparison him to the 
He was too simple-minded to make allowances for 
feminine exaggeration. After a moment he remarked, in a 
hurt “Do you mean you would prefer some 
crack-brained idiot who had paddled down the Mississippi 
in a paper canoe, or had jumped off Mont Blane with a 
Japanese parasol, to—to’’—he hesitated, and then added 
“to a man of sterling business achievement?” 


“What 


last. 


sen, who discovered 


cut 


quick 


very voice, 





to try and find one. After half a 
night tossing on his pillow all he 
had attained was elimination—elimination of art, espe- 
cially as a great cartoonist; elimination of science; elimi- 
nation of invention. All these involved arduous preparation 
extending over years. Analysis of famous names showed 
exploration as one of the quickest short cuts in the past, 
but unfortunately there seemed nothing left to explore 
except Borneo. 

“The Man Who crossed Borneo!” 

No, it wasn’t very tempting. People who had never 
heard of Borneo were scarcely likely to be impressed by 
Beddy crossing it. The poles had been the prize packages, 
and they were gone. Geographically, alas, everything was 
gone except scraps. He toyed with the idea of shooting the 
Kaiser. 

“Bedford Mills, the Man Who shot the Kaiser!” 

It had a splendid ring, but he soon abandoned it. The 
Kaiser might continue sawing wood for all the interference 
he would get from Beddy. Politics? Elimination again, 
though with some lingering over that renowned Colonel 
Waring, who as street commissioner had actually cleaned 
the streets of New York. But of course that was a miracle. 
It couldn’t happen twice. 

Beddy ate a dispirited breakfast. 
a day as gray and cold as his own thoughts. Fame was not 
for him; his sleepless night had shown him that. In his 
discouragement he came near throwing over the morning 
service. Afterward, in the retrospect, it dismayed him to 
recall his indecision and what it might have cost him had 
he remained at home. For it was at church that he got his 
idea from the sermon on Service. It was an admirable 
sermon, a very moving sermon, and it floated down the 
great aisles in the most mellifluous voice in New York. 

It was all about devotion to humanity, self-dedication 
to humanity, and was touchingly biographical. With what 
unction the rector extolled those noble names! With what 
sonorous enthusiasm he dwelt on their imperishable place 
in the hearts of mankind! And how stupendously he buried 
them, while whole nations mourned and kings wept on 
their thrones. There is no better story in the world than 
that of the humble personage who becomes great through 
his love of humanity; and the mellifluous doctor told it and 


It was Sunday, and 











retold it and told it again with a steadily augmenting zest 
and pathos. Beddy, listening with respectful interest, sud- 
denly became electrified. Here, perhaps, was the answer to 
his quest; here were avenues to fame he had never dreamed 
of. All you needed apparently was a big heart and a 
capacity to bear persecution—and there was no height you 
might not climb to. With sufficient publicity in the way of 
contumely and derision you could spring to fame in almost 
the twinkling of an eye. In fact, judged by the preacher’s 
discourse, it was in a direct sort of ratio. 

The possibilities were dazzling. You needed no toilsome 
preparations, no prolonged study or research, no exile to 
Borneo or frozen wastes. You could woo fame at your own 
front door—if you had the nerve. You simply chose one 
phase of human misery or human oppression and went 
forth to remedy it with a flaming sword and as many 
spectators as possible. Beddy was no cynic, but he recog- 
nized that the limelight was as essential as the devotion. 
Where, indeed, would all these Men Who and Women Who 
have’ been without it? Beddy simply analyzed the matter 
like the practical young American he was, and said to 
himself, “It was the free advertising that did it.”’ 

He walked out of Saint Mark’s with the idea surging 
in his head and a tiny voice repeating from somewhere, 
“I shall marry her in June! I shall marry her in June! 
I shall marry her in June!’” Which, considering it was then 
late April, goes to show it was a very gripping idea indeed 
and had fastened on Beddy like the influenza. With it too 
were something of the same shivers; of the same alterna- 
tions of heat and cold; of a similar weakness in the knees. 
It was a simple idea—but appalling. 

Beddy spent the afternoon trying to nerve himself for its 
accomplishment next day, and feeling like a man getting 
ready for electrocution. The idea called for a front of 
brass; it demanded a skin as tough as that of a rhinoceros; 
and Beddy had neither. He had never done anything un- 
conventional in his whole life, and here was the idea incit- 
ing him to stagger New York. He had never even dared to 
wear a straw hat before the first of June, and here he was 
meditating something that would have made a Savonarola 
quail—that is, if Savonarola had been a young man in the 
Pocahontas National Bank. 

Beddy’s respect for the lovers of mankind went up tre- 
mendously as he began to realize what ridicule and derision 
really meant. Jumping into fame was an awfully scorching 
business. Even in anticipation you could feel the flames 
licking up your legs. Hespent an agonizing-afternoon that 
preceded an agonizing evening. And one of the troubles 
was that the idea, on its off side, had an undeniably silly 
look. There were times when it appeared downright idiotic. 
But in spite of such moments of despair, Beddy did not 
flinch. It was the only idea he had, you know, and the 
only one he ever seemed likely to get. Silly or not, the 
idea would certainly make him a Man Who—of sorts. 
And it was only by becoming a Man Who that he could 
hope to win Helen Jessop. 

He set his alarm clock for two A. M., the hour when the 
Morning Clarion went to press and he might count on 
finding Horton Meiklejohn in the office. Meiklejohn was 
one of the feature writers of the Clarion, and Beddy and 
he had been chums in the training camp—which was as 
near Flanders’ fields as Horton ever got, being, as he was, 
essential to the Clarion’s circulation. The idea called for 
an active codéperation on the part of Horton, who Beddy 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


was sure would not fail him. Horton would never have 
failed anybody whose antics might bring in good copy. If 
you had boiled your grandmother in oil and then had 
telephoned to Horton Meiklejohn, he would have answered: 
“Splendid! Hold the story! I'll be round in five minutes 
with the staff photographer!” 

Horton was hurried but cordial, and amazingly wide- 
awake at that unearthly hour. A faint rumble of presses 
rumbled over the telephone, making an appropriate back- 
ground for his staccato voice. 

“You say you want a reporter at your door to-morrow 
at nine o'clock?” 

“Yes, a live wire—a really good one.” 

“But what for?”’ 

“T’ll show him when he comes.” 

“Say, I can’t send out reporters like morning milk,” 
said Horton in a peevish voice. “ He would have to get an 
assignment from the chief, and the chief would want to 
know why. Are you off your chump, or what?” 

“No, I am going to do something that will make all New 
York sit up.” 

Horton laughed scornfully. 

“Tt would take a bigger man than you to make New 
York do that,” he exclaimed. “ You poor nut, don’t you 
know you have no more news value than a last year’s 
orange pip? Why, you would have to steal more than your 
third-class bank is worth to get on the front page. Good 
Lord, man, if you committed suicide the Clarion wouldn't 
run more than ‘ Despondent Bank Clerk Ends Promising 
Career’—and it would think it was treating you mighty 
handsomely at that!” 

But these jeering remarks served only to accentuate 
Beddy’s determination. They brought his own unimpor- 
tance home to him like the repeated lashes of a whip. It 
was plainer than ever, thanks to these wounding comments, 
that he had to become a Man Who, or abandon all thoughts 
of Helen Jessop. Little though Horton knew it, he was 
adding fuel to the flames. 

Beddy redoubled his urging. He was truculent and be- 
seeching, both at once, though nothing could wring any 
explanation from him. Horton was mystified; he did not 
know what to make of it. It seemed to him like the ravings 
of a lunatic. Ah, that was what it was, of course! Another 
queer manifestation of war strain. The sanest people did 
erratic things nowadays; the sanest minds had been 
shaken in France. Poor Beddy, with this bee in his bonnet 
about making New York sit up! What ashame! Well, the 
only thing to do was to humor him. Horton’s voice, pre- 
viously on the verge of exasperation, turned suddenly to a 
soothing key. 

“T will make a point of coming myself,”’ he said. “I am 
one of those happy outlaws who can do as they please. 
Nine o'clock, wasn’t it? All right—I'll be there, sharp. 
And now go to bed, old boy, and don’t worry; and if you 
should change your mind in the morning it won’t matter a 
hill of beans. We'll have a good walk through the park 
instead, or maybe fix it up with the bank to let you go to 
Atlantic City for two or three days.” 

Beddy, with a sigh of relief, took his friend’s advice to 
return to bed, agreeably conscious that he had surmounted 
the first obstacle on the road to fame. 


Beddy shared an apartment on the Upper West Side with 
his two friends, Cooper and Haynes; and though these two 














L — — 








on 


should both have been on their way to their respective 
offices at the hour of Horton’s arrival, the journalist found 
them sitting with Beddy and looking profoundly per 
turbed. The little sitting room was as quiet as a tomb, and 
it needed but a corpse to ex plain the somber faces. Horton's 
quick eyes took in the flush on Beddy’s cheeks and then 
Beddy was attired as 
though for a formal afternoon call, in a cutaway blacl 
coat, fancy 


passed in surprise to his costume 


waistcoat, ascot tie with a pin and the 
appropriate trousers. Ona chair were a silk hat and a pair 
of suéde gloves, suggestive of an immediate departure 
But—why were his feet bare, giving the oddest look to his 
otherwise faultlessly groomed appearance? Bare, without 
even bath slippers? And why were Cooper and Haynes 
both staring at them like doctors who had detected some 
incipient and deadly disease? 

“What's the matter with your feet?" asked Horton 
after he had shaken hands. 

“Nothing's wrong with my feet,” returned Beddy bellig 
erently. “They are as good feet as anybody’s, I guess 
Only I am tired of buying twenty-four dollar shoes for 
them, that’s all.” 

“We are all pretty tired of that,”’ remarked Horton, not 
specially interested. “‘ But what can one do except pay or 
go without?” 

‘I am going without,” announced Beddy 


shoes for me 


‘No more 
I am going to be the man who broke the 
shoe trust.” 

“He is actually going out like that!” said Cooper in an 
awe-stricken voice 

“He says he is going barefoot till the price comes down 
to five dollars,”” added Haynes. “He'll lose his job, and 
everything; and tl ey will stick him in the ps} chopatl ic 
ward at Bellevue— mark my words if they don’t!” 

“They can just do what they damn well please,”’ growled 
Beddy ‘The public is sick of being gouged, and all they 
need is a leader to put the prices on the run. If the bank 
fires me, let it fire; if the police club me, let them club; if 
the poor, downtrodden people riot, let them riot! All I 
know is that I'll never wear shoe leather again till you can 
buy a decent pair of shoes for five dollars.” 

“He’s been saying that over and over again like a par- 
rot,”’ said Cooper, appealing helplessly to Meiklejohn 

“T think we ought to send for a doctor,” said Haynes 

All three were regarding the journalist as though in some 
way the decision rested with him Beddy , for all his air of 
resolution, was eager to see how the plan would strike Hor- 
ton. He prompted him by saying: “What do you think 
of the idea—as an expert in public opinion, you know?” 

Horton hesitated. As a journalist he foresaw some richly 
humorous copy; as a friend he was genuinely distressed. 
Pulled both ways, he was more than ever convinced that 
Beddy was suffering from a temporary aberration of mind. 

Hearkening to his better nature, he said: “‘ Don't do it! 
You will simply make yourself the joke of New York and 
won't be able to live it down in a hundred years. You will 
always be the man who went barefooted through the 
streets of New York.” 

To Beddy this last sentence was like a confirmation of 
all his dreams. Was not Horton, quite unconsciously, 
putting him in the Man-Who class? He beamed 

“Then you will write me up?” he asked. “Give me a 
real start? I may count on that, may I?” 

(Continued on Page 56) 


ee 


Compared With the Courtships in Magazine Fiction it Was a Dreadful Failure. It Had Never Advanced at All 





6 


fl Quest 


OUBETCHERLAND is a 
great and a growing part of 


our country which to date 
the sociological cartographers and 
have 


roughly, 


geographers somehow over- 
looked Its boundaries, 
run as follow On the north the 
Canadian line, on the south the 
Mexican, on the east the foothills 
of the Rockies and on the west the 
Pacific But its typi- 
cal area, its ethnological midriff is, 
I wouid Central Oregon 
where the Cascades lift themselves 
five or six thousand feet in air, and 
then, having done that well, keep 
right on lifting a few thousand feet 
When a Cascade peak has 
to do in the long au 
tumnal lifts and lifts 
until you, standing below on the 


trained to believe 


Ocean most 


say, mn 


more 
nothing « Ise 
twilights it 


plateau, are cor 


that its snowed pinnacle is aiming 
to qualify as a downy stepping- 
stone for the angels’ feet Here is 


the heart of Youbetcherland 

Youbetcherland, a 
shrewd reader already has di: 
the has 
been given it from a turn of speech 


perhaps the 
ined, 
which here 


derives name 


tremendously much in vogue among 


those who populate it. Howsom- 
ever, this 
that the 
is by 
fined to any particular division or 
North 


not imply a claim 
trick 
exclusively 


does 
idiomatic in question 
any means con 
vernacular 
who prefer 
the 


subdivision of 
America. Those of us 
homely, hort 
more roundabout linguistic 


langy cuts to 
mean 
derings of the truly cultured have 
for long been addicted to the use of 
the phrase “ You bet you,” as sig 
nifying acquiescence or approval or 
cooperation or enthusiastic con 
currence. I believe that as far bac 
as pre-Civil War days Mr. Charles 
Dickens 
#0 many gaucheries in 
pain Mr. Dicken: 


people, generally were addicted to 


observed with pain— and 
our land did 
that we, as a 
ince of such an 
exclamation when as a matter of 
fact nothing partaking of the 


ture of a wager had been suggested 


the emphatic utter 


na- 


even remotely lo thi good day 
the thing puzzles some of Mr 
Dickens’ fellow islanders. There is 


a sort of visiting Englishman who, 


on being asked whether this or 
that appears to him satisfactory, 
replies, “Not ‘arf,’ meaning that 
it is wholly so; but for the life of 
him he cannot conceive why we, in our efforts to express 
the same thought, should resort to this Yankeeism. Yet 


perversely we do persist in it 
A Word for All Occasions 


qVLSEW HERE, then, the use of it is common, but in the 
4 domain I roughly bounded, and notably up in 
Oregon, it is distinctive and almost universal. From a sen- 
tence it has been condensed into one polysyliabie word. It 
is at once an affirmation and a confirmation, a threat and a 
promise, a slogan and a shibboleth, a war cry and a peace 
It bespeaks the confidence of a gallant people in 
their abilities to master a difficulty. It sums up the un- 
undimmable optimism of the individual 
It falls trippingly from the tongue of 
neither, doubt touching on the destinies 
nor yet misgivings regard- 
ing the ultimate outcome of whatsoever proposition they 


have 


greeting 


dimmed and 
Western American 
a breed who have 

of themselves and of their race 
from taming the wilderness to enforcing 
a hundred 


undertake, 
You hear it a dozen times a day; 


may 
prohibition 

times a day, some days 
You ask the homesteader if he can put you up for the 
night in his one-room shack on the desert, and without a 
moment's hesitation he replies, “‘ Youbetcher!’’ Over the 
wire you inquire of the young lady at the long-distance 
desk whether there is any prospect of getting that connec- 
tion with Portland or Chicago pretty soon, and she snaps 
\ like that. With the ticket 


back, ‘* Youbetcher!"’— just 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


bete 


By IRVIN S. COBB 





im XO 





Crater Lake National Park 


agent at the railroad station it is a favorite response, and 
the lunch-stand girl says it so often she almost has for- 
gotten the word “yes.”” And when it comes to tackling a 
civic or a communal or a state-wide improvement which 
would give a similar body of Easterners pause— pause, say, 
for about thirty years—these Oregonians rally round the 
polls and vote through the bond issue with loud shouts of 
“Youbetcher !” 

It was up there in Central Oregon that we went on our 
quest for the lava bear. We had heard, two of us, that he 
was to be found in those parts, and when we inquired of 
the most competent native son, who was gding to chaperon 
us, whether there was any prospect, however faint, of 
killing a lava bear during our menth in the wilds he 
promptly and naturally answered, “ Youbetcher!” And 
meant it. Out there they have a way of saying what they 
mean and of meaning what they say. 

The lava bear has almost as many aliases as, in the old 
bunco-steering days, Paper Collar Joe used to have. In 
one part of his Oregon habitat he is the lava bear; in 
another he is the sand-lapper, which would appear to be 
more or less of a fanciful title, inasmuch as there is no 
authentic record of his having been detected in the act of 
lapping up sand. Over across the Idaho line in the Seven 
Devils Range he is known as the dwarf grizzly. Personally 
I prefer to entertain the theory that he is the North 
American sun bear, so called, which some of our faunal 
naturalists insist is an extinct breed. But he isn’t extinct, 
and he can prove it. 


January 1,192! 





The North American sun bear 
was never exactly numerous, and 
according to some of the best au- 
thorities he vanished entirely a 
good many years ago, even before 
the buffalo went, and the passenger 
pigeon and the celluloid cuff. But 
if the present writer is correct in his 
{ amateurish and totally unscientific 

deductions, the sun bear did not 
totally disappear; he merely with- 
drew from society as civilization 
became more complex, and went 
far back into the lava beds where 
he might enjoy the privacy he 
craved. Nor do I believe he be- 
longs to the grizzly family, although 
on a microscopic scale he seems to 
have some of the temperamental 
characteristics which have tended 
to make the grizzly unpopular in 
certain quarters. A man who knows 
a good deal at first-hand about the 
mammals of this continent told me 
he felt sure the lava bear was a dis- 
tinct species rather than a sub- 
species, and for the life of him, he 
said, he could not understand why 
the cunning little secamp had es- 
caped being officially card indexed. 
Several years ago a wealthy sheep- 
man down near Klamath Falls in 
Oregon got hold of a lava bear 
which had been killed by one of his 
herders, and he skinned the animal 
and had the pelt stuffed and sent it 
up to The Dalles, where for some 
time it was on exhibition in a local 
collection. I have been told that 
somewhere in Washington the 
United States Biological Survey 
has another mounted specimen 
tucked away; yet seemingly none 
of our naturalists has taken pains 
accurately to classify this, perhaps 
the rarest of existing large quadru- 
peds on this continent. 


Chronic Local Pride 


S IT turned out, our quest forthe 
lava bear or the sand-lapper or 
the dwarf grizzly or the sun bear, or 
whatever he is, was complicated 
with a lot of other things—with 
the scenery, for one, and with the 
fishing and the deer hunting and 
the jack-rabbit shooting and the 
shade hound. The scenery was 
already there, patiently waiting for 
us to come and admire it; but the 
shade hound, if I may say so, was 
our own idea. Always, in Oregon, 
the scenery is there or thereabouts. If the stranger fails to 
notice it, any native will take pleasure in directing his 
attention to it. Nothing so greatly delights a resident 
Oregonian as to have a tourist give the scenery an un- 
solicited testimonial. On the eastern side of the Cascades 
the home folks take as much personal pride in their scenery 
as their neighbors across the divide, down on the other 
slope, take in their climate, and that is saying a good deal. 
In fact it is saying about all there is to say. 

I remember, the first time I went to the Pacific Coast, 
how deeply was I impressed by an attitude of mind ex- 
hibited daily and hourly by those who lived there. It had 
to do with local pride. When the directory man’s figures 
seemed to show that Los Angeles was about to go ahead of 
San Francisco in the matter of population, and would 
certainly go ahead of it just as soon as’ the next popular 
excursion train came in from lowa and Nebraska points, 
all Los Angeles took a day off to celebrate. The discovery 
that the average blood pressure was higher in San Diego 
than in some rival community gave great cheer to the 
hearts of all loyal and patriotic San Diegoans. And every- 
where the-climate beagles were baying both by day and 
by night. 

“Surely,” I said to myself, “surely local pride can go 
no farther than this.” 

And surely it cannot; at least it never has. But as a 
result of recent explorations extending a thousand miles 
or so northward from San Francisco I am constrained to 
concede that it goes just as far and is just as fervent and 











THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 7 


just as sincere and just as honest in Oregon and Washing- 
ton as it is in the southern part of California. At any hour 
your true Oregonian coast dweller is prepared to stop 
whatever else he may be doing and give three rousing 
cheers for the climate, followed by a tiger for his town, his 
county and his state. 

On the eastern side of the Cascades the local booster 
and there every person capable of speaking the English 
language is a local booster— advertises to the world the 
incomparable beauties of the scenery. To him scenery is 
what climate is to his fellow across the mountains. Even 
so, he is not discounting his own particular variety of 
climate. He has not a harsh word to say for it, but with 
him scenery runs first and climate second in the recital of 
the natural advantages. 


The Gem of the Lower Cascades 





NY human being who is equipped even with the most 
rudimentary beginnings of a soul can enjoy scenery, 
but only one who has more confidence in his own powers of 
expression than good judgment will, with premeditation, 
undertake to set down on paper an accurate picture of it. 
Someone is forever trying to describe in print how the 
Grand Cajfion looks at sunset or how Naples smells on a 
hot day; but up until this time the percentage of those 
who have succeeded at these jobs is still quite small. So 
I shall not try to scratch out with my pen a word etching of 
that scenic wonderland which is called Central Oregon. 
I know that to my dying day I shall carry in my mind 
priceless recollections of the high desert and of the higher 
plateaus and the buttes and the cafions and the gorges 
and the forests and the mountains and the sky and all the 
rest of the glorious ensemble of it. But owing to the 
limitations of a deficient vocabulary I am debarred from 
sharing my treasured memories with others. They must 
go and see it for themselves, which, after all, is the only 
satisfactory way of enjoying scenery. But in passing I do 
crave tospeak a line or so for that crown jewel of the Lower 
Cascades, Crater Lake 
For its size, 1 am quite sure that Crater Lake is the most 
wonderful thing in this world. So far as I know, it is the 
only perfect example of the phenomenon which ensues when 
something crawls into a hole and pulls the hole in after it. 
In this instance the thing which crawled into the hole was 
a mighty mountain, 
and that which en- 
sued, after the hole 
had been pulled in, 
was Crater Lake. 





3 
_ 
- 


1ONAL PAR BERVICE 


For Its Size, 1 Am Quite Sure That Crater Lake is the Most Wonderful Thing in This Worid 





Not so very long ago, as geologists chattily measure 
time, say eight or nine eons ago, perhaps the loftiest moun- 
tain in what subsequently became the United States stood 
here. It is estimated that its peak rose well above the 
sixteen-thousand-foot level. It was a volcanic mountain, 
as nearly all the important mountains in Oregon were and 
are, and that same volcanic force which formed it eventu- 
ally destroyed it—as a mountain. Its cone collapsed and 
vanished into the caldron of a hotter fire than human 
hands ever kindled, leaving behind a circular orifice which 
through the centuries filled with melted snow. The result, 
as we view it to-day, is Crater Lake. It has the greatest 
depth of any body of fresh water in America, and without 
fear of successful contradiction I dare affirm that it is the 
most gorgeously beautiful lake on this planet. About its 
shores, in places where the rock shelves come close to the 
surface, it is the greenest green that ever was, on land or 
sea; but where the bottom drops away with incredible 
abruptness to incredible depths it becomes a marvelous 
and indescribable blue—a purer, richer, more radiant blue 
than any other blue ever was. One has the feeling that a 
cup of it, dipped up, would reveal these tints—blue or 
green, depending on where one did one’s dipping. And 
from personal observation I am willing to state that on 
being splashed with a canoe paddle its spraying drops are 
not like water, but like jewels; like flawless emeralds and 
perfect sapphires. 

You stand on the rim, looking downward a thousand 
feet or so to where Crater Lake lies, an incomparable gem 
cupped in the hand of the Creator, and it seems to you that 
here natural beauty has attained its superlative expression. 
But when, following this, you descend the trail which zig- 
zags down the face of the guardian cliffs and come at 
length te the shores, you discern a gorgeousness which 
even exceeds the splendor of the spectacle as viewed from 
above. For now your vision includes details which before 
escaped you—the rock sides sheering up as steeply almost 
as perpendicular walls; the effect of the sky against the 
brim and the effect of the reflected sky in the water itself; 
curious formations, banking in a long perspective of spires 
and pinnacles. These last really are the nipples of dead 
voleamic flues, and because of their fancied resemblances 
to fabulous monsters and human figures and architectural 
forms they here have been given various names to distin- 
guish them. But this was a great mistake, because these 
objects do not look like anything else on earth. They look 
only like themselves. When the eye encounters an idio- 
syncrasy of Nature which overtops and surpasses the scope 
of man’s imagining, why, then the puny human intellect 
should be content to let weli enough alone. 





Distances are most deceiving at Crater Lake Indeed, 
all through the Far Western country distance is deceiving 
From your perch on the brink you guess that to the wate 
is perhaps a straight drop of two hundred feet. It i 
nearer a thousand. From the same point you look dowr 
ward and across to an island which juts up out of the lake 
and you hazard the that on an 
distance to the nearermost tip of the island is possibly three 
hundred yards. As a matter of fact, the spot at which you 
are looking is two and three 
Eventually the visitor begins to hedge on all his offhand 
reckonings of space. He knows that if he states his honest 
belief he will fall so far short of the actual figures as to 
make the calculations sound ridiculous. So, leaping to the 
other extreme, he multiplies what he thinks by two or 
three or four in an effort to reconcile his visual concept 
with the actual statistics. This, when persisted in, causes 
optical confusion and mental lapses. You see a human 
form seemingly near at hand, but for the life of you you 
cannot make up your mind whether it is a little boy two 
hundred feet away or an elderly gentleman in knicker- 
bockers a couple of miles off. You must draw nearer and 
scan him for whiskers before you can make sure 


statement airline the 


between miles from you 


A Future Tourist’'s Mecca 


NE of these days hundreds of thousands of Americans 
will visit Crater Lake every summer. This day will 
come when a railroad worms its way in through the gorges, 
or, better still, when there is an adequate automobile high 
way penetrating into Crater Lake Nationa! Park from 
Medford to the southwest, or from Bend to the northeast, 
or from Klamath Falls to the At present the 
roads, except within the very bad 
In the months between which consti 
tute the season for automobiling—they are ankle deep i: 
white dust, and under the dust lie deep and jolty ruts 
which shred away your tires and loosen your springs and 
make travel at almost any gait 
for the traveler. But poor going does not deter the native 
He is used to it. What the rural Oregonian regards as a 
fair road would be cursed as a bad road almost anywhere 
east of the Mississippi. When the gorgeous Oregon sum- 
mer comes those who live in the little towns and on the 
homesteads and on the ranches start out to see their own 
country. Mainly they move in family groups. The outfit 
may not be fancy looking, but it is adequate 
Into the tin Lizzie are loaded the bed rolls and the 
camp dunnage. The old man drives, wearing the oldest 


southeast 
park itself, are very, 


June and October 


a veritable endurance test 








(Continued on Page 49 








q ie must know that a spur of the 
Indus River runs through the 
Amir’s garden, and for part of 

the year there is much river and little 


garden, because the floods come down 
rom 1 grea indu usn range, an 
f the great Hindu Kus ge, and 


THE SATURDAY EVENING 





Al Story of the Bridge in the Amir’s Garden, as Told by Hiram 
Harish Singh, the Amir’s Secretary 


By Will Levington Comfort 


POST 





January 1,192! 


Oh, Hiram Singh, trusted and thrice- 
tested servant of our Prince, make haste 
tosend this excitement out of our princi- 
pality! Aye, return him now, with the 
garden unbridged and the river therein, 
lest he speak to the Prince himself in 


” 




















only the palace is not changed. All rELUVUSTRATEO Br HENRY J. SOUL E WN strange tongue and unaccustomed —— 
other objects ap- *‘*Stran ge 
pear as if sunken in tongue?” I said. 
cold chocolate | *,| Res ee Bein bie 2 Se eee ais “Be explicit!” 

Also, each year, / : he yest ame. ‘* Pe > ee ae Already he has 
the footings of the ‘ > Le e- OE Se ate ane oe au) See spoken to me of 
bridge ooze up on , ° “= > i Fras pe PRS io f the Amir as The 
a special day and : aad .s Spee-nort, which is 


the framework 
floats down to 
lodge against the 
palace walls. For 


many years this 
has been a per- 
formance of the 
s, and beating 
the bridge builders 
their 


rain 
upon bare 
backs 
availed 

Inthe first place, 
it is difficult to se 
eure for 
the making of a 
new bridge; and in 


has not 


laborers 


the second place, 
the Amir is dis 
turbed for three 


months of the 
twelve by the chis- 
els and mallets, 
when the laborers 
are brought and 
forced to make 
ready a fresh sac- 
rifice for the river 


Also, there is to 
consider the rest- 
lessness of the 


women of the se- 
raglio, occasioned 
by the traffic of 
construction on 
the river banks 
within the palace 
walls. Therefore, 
when the news 
camethat the Eng- 
lish, finishing their 
railroad at Far 
Remesch, had dis- 
charged one of 
their engineers be- 
he would 
only make the railroad to suit himself, the Amir dis- 
cussed with me the prudence of sending for the unbilleted 
one, said to be an American. These were the days in 
which there was mourning in the palace over the death of 
Medu'ullah, the Amir’s prime minister, whose wisdom had 
sheltered our Prince for many years. I, Hiram Harish 
Singh, secretary, spoke against the calling of this American. 

“He will be strange to our ways, Most Excellent, and 
remember that the English have not found him desirable.” 

But, as shall be seen, the Amir was bent upon having an 
iron bridge in his garden. After we had discussed for 
several days, old Maeeta, very sharp and privileged among 
the Amir’s women, gave testimony that the American 
would have time to reach the Eastern Sea and cross it to 
his country if we did not decide something. It was decided 
that the American was to be sent for; and from that 
moment things evil befell. Alas, it was the coming of Mr. 
Rufe Heckling to the Amir’s gardens that changed our 
world, even the face of Nature. 

Now it is ten days’ journey by caravan to Far Remesch, 
where the English world ends and the world of the Amir 
begins; but great mountains lie between, and in the high 
heart of the mountains there is a pass, very dangerous, 
because of robbers lying in wait there to pounce upon all 
aravans. On this account the Amir suggested that I 
write to his agent in Far Remesch to engage the American 
and send him to the capital without delay, providing suit- 
able escort of horses and camels and a bodyguard to make 
This message he 





cause 


safe the passage through the mountains 


ng 
x : 
“G 
- ’ 4 





And I Saw the Tinge of Olive Come to the Face of 
Our Prince as He Saw Her Happiness 


intrusted to my servant, Haider Roorkh, who is learning 
to speak English. Also, Haider Roorkh was directed to 
act as mehmandar, or host, to the American on the return 
journey, dealing between him and the people. In due time 
the American's party arrived at the caravanserai of our 
city, the capital; and as was his custom, the Amir sent 
word that he was indisposed. It is well known that the 
liscomfort of the serai for two days will greatly increase a 
traveler’s delight in the palace, if he is given audience; 
also his humility. 

It was not so with the American. Haider Roorkh ran to 
me from the serai, and with hasty salaam pulled back his 
turban, permitting me to see the gray at his temples. 
Since I had not looked upon his uncovered head before, I 
could not be sure that he was not gray since his youth; 
but his eyes were like the eyes of a dangerous elephant who 
is also sick. Therefore, I told him to speak. 

“*Most Favored, Hiram Harish Singh,” he said, “as a 
servant of the state since my beginnings as a small male 
child I have tried to be a true servant in the household of 
our Prince; and alas, to think that I should be the chosen 
agent to bring disaster unto the same!” 

“To think!” I said, bowing, and bade him speak on. 

“Disaster, in the form of this white man, who is not as 
other men, with whom even his own people, the whites, 
could not build their railroad in peace, whose eye sees all 
things and whose voice commands the camels to fear him. 





not English of the 
academy, nor us- 
age in the speech 
of courts. Dayand 
night there is no 
restwithhim. The 
laugh of the man 
is a violence, and 
hiseyepeereth into 
all manner of 
strange places. 
Just now herefuses 
to remain in the 
quarters I have 
given him, but 
twice he has come 
to the gate of the 
walls, seeking ad- 
mittance to the 
garden. I told him 
that all must be 
made ready; that 
the Amir was in- 
disposed; and oh, 
Hiram Harish 
Singh, favored one 
in the house of our 
Prince, when he 
came to the gate 
the first time he 
told me that he 
didn’t have all 
summer to hang 
round a stinking 
serai!”’ 

“And what did 
he say the second 
time?’’ I asked 
without hope. 

‘*He spoke in 
symbols which you 
must interpret, 
Excellent and Un- 
failing.” 

“Give them to 
me.” 

“T am a poor man and ignorant,” said Haider Roorkh, 
“and I pray that I fail not. It was a bird that he spoke of 
first, and of a perch in the second place, saying that a 
certain bird had better come down off a certain perch if he 
wants a bridge built.” 

““Go back to your gate, Miserable,” I said, “‘and leave 
me to ponder these things. But, stay!”’ I called. “‘What 
is the nature of the man’s appearance?” 

“He is tall,” said Haider Roorkh—‘“tall, like our tall 
men, but thicker than any of us, with a thickness that is 
throughout. He laughs loudly when his eyes are innocent, 
but softly when the danger creeps into them. There is hair 
on his hands, Sweet Friend of Authority, and he wears a 
hat that comes off without unfolding.” 

“What is the color of the hair?” I said severely. 

“It is the color of apples stewed in many spices.” 

I passed an evil night, and the next afternoon, when the 
Amir expressed a wish for my presence, I advised that we 
put off the audience no longer. Word was accordingly sent 
to the serai, but the messenger came back running with the 
report that the white man had put on his hat and started 
at once. I glanced in fright at our Prince, whose eyeballs 
were uncovered in anxiety. 

“How was he dressed?”’ I demanded of the messenger. 

“As the English when they hunt in the forest, and a 
wide gray hat, very dusty - ay 

The Amir, holding one hand in the other in his delicate 
way, shook his head, saying, “I must have a bridge in my 
garden.” 





















I rose then and hastened to the gate, where the white 
stranger from Far Remesch stood leaning against the 
stones. He looked me up and down as he filled a paper 
with tobacco out of a cloth bag. 

“Hello,” he said, “‘and what office do you hold?” 

“I am Hiram Harish Singh, secretary to His Royal 
Highness, the Amir.” 

“All right, Hi, maybe you can tell me what’s the hold-up 
now?” 

“It is the matter of your evening wear, Mr. Heckling.” 

“My what?” 

“Your dress suit—you did not put it on.’ 

“Why, that’s a fact,”’ he said, laughing softly, at which 
I remembered the words of Haider Roorkh regarding 
danger. 

“It is not too late, Mr. Heckling.” 

“Well, now, that’s lucky,’’ he answered; “and how 
could I have been so careless? Why, Hiram, I’ve been just 
simple enough to think I came here to build a bridge, not 
to go to the Amir’s party.” 

“It is not a party. It isa custom in all countries among 
those to whom a monarch gives audience.” 

“Isit now? I want to know. Well, Hiram, you just run 
over and tell the Amir that I'll give him audience at the 
serai!” 

““No—no!”’ I cried. “‘We are waiting for you at the 
palace. Hasten now to your quarters and make the 
change!” 

“*My son,” he said, “I haven’t got any more dress suit 
than a centipede.”’ 

“But we—we will make you one. One day—two 
days ad 

“I was just going to add that I wouldn’t put it on if I 
had one. Why, Hiram, I expect to see a whole lot of your 
caliph, and I’m sure not going to bob in and out of a dress 
suit.” 

With heavy heart I returned to the Amir, and in a con- 
trolled voice I told him what had befallen. 

“Rise, Indispensable,”’ he said. ‘Take my closed car- 
riage to the serai. Have the curtains of the carriage 
tightly drawn, so that the women may not see how he 
comes. Yes, at once, bring him as he is, for I must have 
a bridge for my 
garden.” 


’ 


“T-could make a life job of it, Isuppose; but I don’t care 
enough about your climate. Come on out in the yard and 
show me what you want done.” 

“Owing to the death of my prime minister, my secretary 
will accompany you and explain *, 

“Nothing like that! I’m building this bridge for you!” 

I, Hiram Singh, broke in to explain: 

“The Amir does not attend to these affairs personally.” 

“Now, Hiram, you be good and let me talk straight to 
the little round chief.” 

Then I turned to the Amir and found him looking at me 
with a relaxed look, which always comes when he is 
thinking out a way to punish an offender. 

“Do not break in, Hiram Singh!”’ he said. 

Alas, I would have saved him, but now I interpreted the 
words solely. 

“He says he is building this bridge for you, not for your 
prime minister or your secretary.” 

Now a strange light dawned in the eyes of the Amir, and 
his hands lifted delicately and came together. 

“Tell him it is true,”’ he said softly. 

“Sure it’s true!”’ said Mr. Heckling. “It’s your garden, 
isn’t it?” 

“Yes, yes 

“Then come along and show me what you want done.” 

The light brightened in the eyes of the Amir, as one 
called to a great heroism. 

“Yes, I will go,”’ he said-presently. 

“But quit petting your hands like that, Amir. It ain’t 
decent to nurse one in the other that way.” 

“Tell him I shall try to remember,” the Amir said. 
“Have them bring me my cane and parasol, Hiram 
Singh.” 

“You will walk, Most Glorious?” I asked with difficulty, 
for my mouth would not shut in amazement. 

“‘And my shawl,” said the Amir, nodding. 

Thus was the Red Handed shown the nature of the 
thing he had come to do by the Amir himself; shown the 
place where the old bridges of bamboo had been, and 
the bridges of teak; where the footings had oozed out, even 
the place against the wall where the river lodged the frame- 
works in the rains. And all the time, from the Amir’s 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 9 


seraglio, I could see the close-drawn curtains slightly mov- 
ing at the edges, and I knew that the women were watch 
ing, and knew the restlessness of their hearts. 

Walking back in the cool of the day the Red Handed 
said, his hand on the arm of the Amir: ‘Tell him he can 
have his bridge, Hiram. A mechanic could do it, much less 
an engineer. We'll need some steel and concrete, that’s all 
I'll get up the specifications. The only drag is the time 
that it will take to get the stuff here.”’ 

“We shall be patient,” said the Amir. 

“That patience stuff is all right for a while, but I 
wouldn’t go on promoting it if I were you. And listen 
here; I'm not through. I'm going to build this bridge my 
way.” 

“Yes, that will suit. We have spoken of that,” said the 
Amir hastily. 

“When we sit down I want to tell you something, 
mister.” 

“Yes,” said the Amir with quickened step. 

“Now it’s like this,”” the Red Handed began as soon as 
the cushions and rugs were laid. 

“Will you not wait until refreshment is brought?” said 
the Amir. 

“Go ahead yourself and drink,” said the American 
“When I drink I don’t do anything else. It’s this way 
You people up here don’t pay wages for labor. Evidently 
you’ve got an idea that it’s an honor for the laboring man 
to work for you. He'll tell you so too—to your face, but 
it isn’t honest, party. Excuse me, but I couldn’t help 
studying out—the way you had me brought in here. You 
gave your agent in Far Remesch enough to bring me in 
style. Your agent sent me through with less camels and a 
smaller outfit than you ordered, and took about five hun 
dred rupees for his share. Your mehmandar underpaid the 
sergeant of the bodyguard, and went short on food and 
blankets to get kis. Your sergeant got along with less men 
and pocketed part of their wages. We looked so hungry 
and sad that the robbers let us pass without a strike. Not 
only that, but your camel drivers sold the forage from 
their beasts for their cash, and the camels ate crackle 
grass instead of grain. The system is rotten, Amir, and 
I’m not going to build a bridge that way.” 

‘*What would 


you do?” said the 








So it was that 
the Red Handed 
came into the pres- 
ence of our Maj- 
esty, smelling of 
leather dressing 
which he had re- 
cently put upon 
his boots and belt. 

“Hello, Prince,” 
hesaid. “A whole 
lot of folks look 
after you, don’t 
they? Do you 
like it?” 

I placed the 
English into our 
statelier language. 
The Amir bowed 
eagerly. 

“Tell him I am 
accustomed.” 

“But you’re not 
well, mister. It 
isn’t fair to you to 
be cooped up 
here.” 

Now the Red 
Handed actually 
touched a fold of 
the Amir’s chin 
and the place of 
his obesity, add- 
ing, ‘“‘You need 
exercise.” 

With flaming 
face I placed these 
words to our 
Prince, who an- 
swered: “Tell him 
it is true. I am 
too soft.” 

Now, though it 
is with shame, I 
place down part of 
their talk, as if I 
had not been be- 
tween them, inter- 
preting: 

‘“*And so you 
want a little old 


iron bridge?”’ 





La WN agagtitli 


¢ 
1 Sete 





Amir when I had 
made this plain 

“| want money 
to work with—to 
buy supplies with, 
and to pay off the 
men by the week 
Also, my own 
charge,which I will 
figure out and 
hand you.’ 

1 looked at the 


Amir as one who 





had seen his coun- 
try’s ruin. His 
eyes came to me 
I saw the struggle 
in them, but also 
the firm look whict 
said to me as 
plainly as words, 
‘*I must have a 
bridge in my gar- 
den.” 

His lips moved, 
and to me it was 
the worst that he 
said, “It shall be 
as you say, Bridge 
Builder of the 
Elect.” 

Inthedays while 
the Red Handed 
wrote up his spec- 
ifications the Amir 
sat each afternoon 
looking from the 
window at the 
place where the 
bridge was to be 
built; and when 
the specification 
came a vast and 
complicated out- 
lay wa et forth, 
but the Amir 


bare] waited for 
them to be put 
into the figures of 
ou peech betore 
hi anction wa 
placed 





(Continued on 








‘*Yes,inmy 
garden.” 


“You Haven't Been Doing What I Totd You, Chief. 


I'm Going to Punish You Toc" 


Page 40) 








10 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 





January 1,192/ 


THE MOTHER AND HER BOY 


HI longer I consider the question of how 
far a mother is capable of shaping a son’s 
dlestiny or molding his life, the surer I am 

that the only person who can really write with 
authority on thi ibject is the 
celibate parent of an imaginary 
child This person ho raise 
large families of children 


of his, or usually her, fancy 


flower 


knows the exact formulas that 
will cover all situation 

[am the surer of thi nee ona 
recent afternoon I aired certain 


views that I have embodied in 


this paper to a mixed group of 
bachelors and spinsters 

I was assured that I was all 
wrong \ young bac helor of 


Gallic gesture and nice precision 
of spee« h took violent exception 
It was the father, 
he declared, who influenced the 
child. A social-science student in 
shell glasses spoke scornfully of 





to everything 


mothers as a class, they were 
‘nuerile’’ her very word and 
declared the state should take the 
child away from her and stand 
ardize him; a cozy little spinster 
assured me that heredity was out 
anyhow —that a mother could 
make what she pleased of her 
child 

The air buzzed as with a swarm 
of infuriate bees — theories, argu 
ments, creeds, crisscrossing. I sat 
humbly listening to this shower 
of talk, realizing how very little 
I knew about rearing children 


it is with this spirit still at work 
in me that I set down the follow 
ing paragraph I am but the 


humble, Inexpenenced parent of 
one small, agile, normal human 
boy Necessarily my 
the hall mark of the amateur, the 


ideas bear 


heer experimenter «n a scarcely 
opened field. The 
all humility but with all sincerits 


are offered in 





They are the best I can do. [Lam 
comforted by the thought taat 
I probably know more about it now than I shall later on 

A favorite bit of fiction that pleases my little Sonny 
very much is the story of the tidings of his coming to me 
By a letter of a unique kind 

The letter I got so unexpectedly on the afternoon the 
very special magazine arrived. The magazine was so 
very special because it contained my first printed story, 
and I naturally took it with me on my afternoon climb 
to a favorite hillside seat above the dreamy August hush 
And here, as I sat under a tree, 
proudly admiring the neat rows of printed letters —great 
quantities of alphabets all mixed together but standing 
and the beautiful pictures the illus 
trator had drawn, which, however, like all of those pic 
tures, did not resemble anything in my story Well, 
as I was doing this, I got the letter 

*What kind of letter? 


of the little town below 


up at present arms 


* Sonny is supposed to ask here 


Beginning a Little-Boy Career 


WAS, of course, the letter written on the maple leaf 
which Oz, the fat robin messenger, brought me. He flew 
right down from the tree overhead and laid the maple 
leaf on my knee. Now, of course I should explain here 
that if you ever receive a message by maple leaf you'll 
know it at once All these leaves have very fine writing 
on the back which as a rule you cannot understand. But 
when you are able to read it, it is, of course, a letter. This 
one said clearly 
“A little boy is 
My surprise at this point overpowers me dramatically, 


coming to live with you, madam.” 


and Sonny must prod me 

“Go on,” he orders sharply 

I should explain that at this period Sonny is eight years 
old. He has a small well-shaped head, glossy as a beech- 
nut; full pink cheeks so closely resembling peaches I 
would not dare take him near a beehive; a wide friendly 
smile with two black holes in it; a pair of stand-out 
ears, referred to in facetious moments as wings, flaps, 
oyster shells; two large blue eves, dubbed similarly 
The rest of him pointing 








sapphires, sparklers, blueberries 





DECORATION Br L. HH. 


By Mary Brecht Pulver 


CALDWELL 


meet Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer and Sir Gala- 
had and Long John Silver. He would grow 
some teeth and eyebrows presently, and get to 
wearing trousers and go to the circus and to 
school, where his teachers would 
praise him. He was to be strong 











downward is brown corduroy, a necktie slightly to one 
side, a pair of wiry legs, and a brace of restless hands, 


not sunburn. 


9 


usually dabbled a rich brown 

“Go on,” he orders sternly. “What next 

By this time the dramatic effect of the letter has a little 
worn off, but I am still terribly surprised, even frightened, 
because it complicates things. I have just begun a writing 
career when the letter arrives, and to think of adding a 
little-boy career right from the beginning point! Any 
average brave person might attempt the former, but the 
latter everyone concedes is a great responsibility. 

“Still, you had to take me,” Sonny gloats grimly. 
“ After the robin gave you the letter you had to be satisfied. 
And I wasn’t a girl either.” 

“IT should have fed a girl to the crocodiles,” I rejoin with 
an orthodox shudder of horror. This is a little rough on 
certain young parties but obtains in our family. 

The next step, of course, in our comedy is the filling of 
the blank supplied me by Oz, with the specifications for 
the exact sort of boy desired. It is here that Sonny feels 
an eternal joke was played on me 

“Why didn’t you say I was to like soap on my face? 
And you didn’t say a word about my collecting different 
things—or that I was going to be a motorcycle cop when 
I grow up. They just gave you anything at all.” 

Certainly they gave me a great many unexpected extras. 
As I look at the small figure placidly rocking back and 
forth on the natural autematic foundation provided for 
such operations, his cowlick thrusting upward, his piebald 
hands linked about his knees, I am aghast at the con- 
fidence and temerity with which — my correspondence with 
Oz being presently completed—I took charge of him on 
his arrival from There to Here. 

I recall that as the presiding deity in starched blue-and- 
white offered him to me in a furled blanket with some trite 
remark about another presidential candidate, I felt no 
doubt whatever as to our relationship. This was my little 
boy —a good little boy, of course, being mine—the typical 
little lamb. He was to have all sorts of things in his life 
which, principally, I meant to put there. He was to have 
roller skates and-sleds and drums and a velocipede and 


” 





and healthy, avoid whooping 
cough and measles and never tell 
any lies—if possible. I think this 
is as far as most mothers go 
consciously. I am sure they never 
contemplate a son in the presi- 
dential chair—indeed merely to 
watch the necessary progression 
of kissed babies and milked cows 
leading thither would quell their 
ambition. I donot think a mother 
considers her son in terms of 
adult life at all or looks at him as 
a finished product, the grown 
man. Certainly not as a gray- 
beard grandfather, a postgradu- 
ate in experience. He is to her in 
terms of sonship, the child always. 

There is a sound biological 
basis for this. 


Mother and Son 


E IS hers peculiarly and in- 

timately, an extension of her 
ego—as a daughter is not — being 
the unconsciously expressed mas- 
culine obverse of her conscious 
femininity, and therefore dear and 
close to her as nothing else in the 
world is; but he is also hers only 
temporarily. It is the law of life 
that his personality must diverge 
from hers, that he will presently 
emancipate himself, if he is nor- 
ma!, bud off from this matrix 
which formed him. He will do 
this when he enters adult life 
sometimes even earlier; and it is 
the unconscious realization of 
this impending loss which limits 
her thought of him to terms of 
boyhood or childhood, that pe- 
riod when she still plays a domi- 
nating part with him, the heyday 
of such power as she possesses to fix certain ideas and 
ideals in him. It is the period of her actual reign over 
him—after that she will be deposed by life, by a sense of 
expanding horizon, a natural masculine reaction against 
her sex. 

Women are quick to say they lose their sons at marriage 
While this is true, or should be true, it is a fact that a 
normally developed young man without any extraneous 
influence presently relegates his mother to the position of 
a highly prized but rather useless piece of mantel bric-a- 
brac. This is not because he or she is a failure in love or 
duty, but because they are of different generations, each 
with its own psychology. Occasionally a rare mother with 
an elastic type of mind can psychologize along with her 
boy into his adult life—but it is not usual. Life is going to 
offer him an entirely new set of customs and standards, 
adjustments she has never been called on to make, to say 
nothing of a sex psychology which is different from her 
type. She cannot possibly keep him with her after his 
virility is established. 

It is up to her to make hay while the sun shines, do with 
him what she can, and presently, like a good sport, cut her 
losses. 

Not long ago while I was sitting in a train for New 
York a wedding party came down the platform. This is 
an industrial community and these people were mani- 
festly of the alarm-clock-and-whistle class—it was stamped 
on their hands, in their vernacular. The bride and groom 
were frankly reveling in their hideously proclaimed status 
and the attentions their congratulatory tormentors offered 
of confetti, rice, paper streamers and tin horns. The bride 
was a rosebud peasant type, the groom a button-nosed, 
sway-jawed, horny-handed youth of twenty-three or so, 
with hair like frost-kissed buckwheat stubble. 

In the noisy maelstrom were two not actively participat- 
ing matrons. And you could tell t’other from which in- 
stantly: the bride’s mother by theslight look of complacence 
the industrial mother wears at a daughter’s wedding 
“Mabel is a grand girl, but living’s so high, and Peter has 
a grand job, and, anyway, she'll be back and tell me 
everything.” (Continued on Page 117) 


























FTER she was ninety, Grandma Witt lived in a 
dream world of people who had long vanished 
from the Worthington hillsides. When she 

talked it was of her childhood and school days, her 
marriage, and the boys going away to the Civil War. 

Grandma Witt fell asleep before 1914. Sometimes her 
recollections seemed to bear upon nothing in particular- 
then. But to-day they are quite timely and significant. 

All the bright Worthington boys, said Grandma Witt, 
went into the Union Army, led by Russell Conwell, one 
of the brightest. In those times Worthington was a 
general-farming section, raising grain and meat for Eastern 
cities, and even flax and wool for homespun. But when 
the bright boys came home from the war New England 
could no longer hold them. They went on into the West, 
taking up land, building railroads and cities, and the hill- 
sides ceased feeding the towns and then the people who 
were left. The bright boys went away, and the bright girls 
stayed behind, marrying the boys who lacked git-up-and- 
git. And thus Worthington was no longer what it used to 
be, according to her way of thinking. Probably she had 
never heard of the Southern cracker—certainly never of a 
New England cracker. Yet the type is as definite in the 
hills of Massachusetts as in those of Tennessee. 

Now the bright boys who went away to the World War 
are adrift to-day. The attraction is different. In 18665 it 
was the free land of the West, while in 1920 it is industrial 
opportunity in our cities. But the bright girls of 1920 are 
not being left behind. On the contrary, they also are 
drifting to the city, adventuring for opportunity, seeking 
excitement, pretty clothes, broader knowledge of the 
world and of life, and shaping the surroundings in which 
to settle down when marriage halts the drifting lark. 

Long before the Civil War, New England had its factory 
girls, and Charles Dickens was astonished to find them 
wearing good cloaks and serviceable hats instead of the 
shawl and calico shift of the Lancashire mill operative. 
Still, the field of opportunity for girls in the sixties 
was limited largely to marriage, teaching, dressmaking, 
domestic service 


Marriage is Still Popular 


O-DAY some of our serious thinkers fear that the nation, 

not to say the race, is menaced by marriage, home life 
and children becoming obsolete. Marriage is not going out 
of fashion, however. It has simply been moved back a peg 
or two. Girls reach it through other things that seem more 
interesting for the time being. 

Any employment manager will testify that the whole 
cycle followed by girl workers is different from that of the 
boys who drift to the city. The factory, store, office and 
bank hire and train girls for a working career that averages 
about five years. Then the girls marry and must be 
replaced. A certain percentage of girls stick to work, 
unmarried, corresponding to,the old maids of other days, but 
now living the 
more active and 


DECORATION BY DOUGLAS 


By James H. Collins 


RYAN 


see more of men as they are, understand their daily inter- 
ests and difficulties, and choose a mate with eyes wider 
opened. 

Women working in factories now outnumber those on 
the farms, and perhaps exceed the two million in domestic 
service. The latest census figures at hand are ten years 
old, and those of 1920 will probably show great changes. 
Upward of one million women are office workers in 
business houses, railway offices and Federal, state and 
municipal civil service. Saleswomen and clerks in stores, 
banks and commerce generally number more than five 
hundred thousand. Teaching still employs nearly five 
hundred thousand women, but is now supplemented by 
comparatively new feminine occupations like telephone 
operating, manicuring, stewardships in hotels and restau- 
rants, nursing, medicine, acting, music, art, authorship 
and the professions generally. Fifteen leading industrial 
states employ more than half the women workers enumer- 
ated in the last census, clearly indicating the feminine 
drift toward business and industry. 

The girls were drifting before the war—drifting from 
lonely countrysides, dull villages and towns, drab homes, 
large families—drifting into factories, offices, stores, tele- 
phone exchanges, hospitals, institutions. But the war 
greatly accelerated the drift and changed conditions for 
the working woman. 

For example, what war did to Stella and Katie O’Brien: 

One emergency above all others is dreaded by the man- 
ager of a telephone exchange—fire. Not that there is much 
to burn in a modern fireproof telephone plant; but fire 
may bring the firemen, and if they use water, that will 
cause far more damage than fire itself to delicate insulation 
and switchboard wiring. When the new Branchley ex- 
change was opened on the West Side its manager invited 
Lieut. Pat O’Brien from the nearest fire house to look the 
plant over and study it from the standpoint of extinguish- 
ing a possible fire with the least damage, using sand, tar- 
paulins and fire-smothering gas instead of water. 

Stella O’Brien was eager to work after leaving high 
school at nineteen, but her father objected. He didn’t like 
the idea of factory work— it didn’t seem to be the thing 
for a nice girl like Stella. Nor would he let her procure a 
department-store position, jumping at the beck and call of 
overbearing shoppers. Pat O’Brien was proud of his home 
and his girls and his ability to keep his family in comfort. 

Telephone operating was something new, however. He 
had lunched with the operators on duty after his inspec- 
tion, saw them working at switchboard positions, found 
them girls pretty much like his own, with clean employ- 
ment, detached from shoppers and the foreign element in 
local factories, and with a service spirit as definite as that 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 11 





of the fire department. Pat not only told Stella about 

it, but gave her permission to apply for a telephone 

job. She qualified, was sent to an operating school 

and in a few weeks assigned to Branchley, the exchange 

nearest her home. It was girls just like Stella that the 
telephone service then drew upon for operating recruits 
In city neighborhoods, as well as towns and villages, the 
only girl who had no need to work through necessity, and 
did not find a factory or store job congenial, was delighted 
with telephone operating, living near the exchange, with 
its advantages to the service as well as herself. For again 
and again, in emergencies, operators off duty would rally 
to meet sudden service pressure. A big fire, an accident 
or any occurrence almost invariably sends people to the 
telephones. At such times, instead of one or two switcl 
board lights twinkling up every minute, as in normal 
traffic, the whole switchboard blazes with signals by people 
calling simultaneously. Some of them are curious, others 
anxious about relatives. Somewhere in the maze of lights 
may be a half-dozen vital calls for ambulances, the police, 
the firemen or doctors. No matter what goes wrong or 
what the hour, day or night, off-duty operators speed to 
the telephone exchange instinctively, by trolley, motor, 
afoot—anything to get there and begin untangling the 
traffic and singling out those vital half-dozen calls which 
may mean the saving of life or property. 


Wartime Growth of Telephone Needs 


AR affected the telephone operator in several ways. It 

was soon necessary to break home ties and send her 
traveling. During the nineteen months we were at war 
Washington's telephone needs grew beyond all precedent 
The War Department alone had a separate installation 
adequate for the business needs of a city of a hundred 
thousand, with its separate telephone directory. Other 
government departments needed ever-increasing facilities, 
and so did the Washington branches of business concerns 
carrying out war contracts, and the growing population of 
the capital. Long-distance traffic from Washington to 
industrial centers and camps increased correspondingly 
This was not only abnormal growth in plant and traffic, 
but growth in a frantic new community of strangers where 
only the most skillful service could meet its requirements 
So exceptionally skillful girls were recruited among the 
seasoned operators of other cities and transferred to Wash- 
ington. More of them were needed at munitions plants, 
shipyards and other war industries, and a little later the 
topnotchers of the service were sent to the Army in 
France. Girls with the two or three years’ experience that 
makes a seasoned operator were withdrawn from the 
home-circle organization of the telephone exchange every- 
where. At the same time factories diverted the home girls 
who normally furnished new operating recruits. Factory 
wages rose above telephone wages under the stimulus of 
war production. More than that; war suddeniy made 
the hardest fac 

tory work credit 





interesting life 
of the business 
woman and bach- 
elor girl. There is 
also a certain pro- 
portion of women 
who return after 
marriage, chiefly 
widows who go to 
work again to sup- 
port a family, a 
most capable class 
of employees, de- 
veloping supervis- 
ing ability and 
rising to well-paid 
positions as fore- 
women, superin- 
tendents and man- 
agers. But the 
great majority 
work four or five 
years, learn to be 
self-supporting, 
acquire a knowl- 
edge of business 
that is useful in 
the management 
of a home, and 
have a wider 
choice in marry- 
ing than was af- 
forded by the old 








able, even desir 
able, because girls 
felt that they were 
directly producing 
entials in 





war @¢s 





such employment 
Fastidiousness 
and social misgiv 
ing disappeared 
No girl was too 
nice to make war 


] 
Suppies a muni 


tions job was 
either service or a 
lark or both 
Stella was trans 
ferred to Wash- 
ington, and after 
three months’ 
general operating 
promoted to su 
pervisor. Then 
tangles arose in 
the new te lephor e 
installation for a 
munitions town 
ington, and she 
was ent there 
with a squad of 
girls who had dem 
onstrated ability 
(Continued on 
Page 108 








social order—they 











HEY called him the Old Man 
One sporting editor won his death- 
less gratitude by referring to him 


as the Grand Old Man. When Cal setegeuvswTaeese# TSB O 


Benton read, with labored pre- 
cision, this grand-old-man 
phrase— it occurred twice in the 
half-column story of his retire- 
ment from the ring—it thrilled 
him as had no other of his various 
high titles; not even his hard 
won and harder-held title of light 
heavyweight champion of the 


East 

The Grand Old Man's years, 
at this time, were precisely two 
months short of thirty-six. 


Senility dawns earlier in the prize 
ring than almost anywhere else 
on earth, and the term “old man” 
is the affectionately admiring de- 
age when 
such age is girt round with honors 

John L. Sullivan retired feet 
foremost from the ring at thirty 
four, after twelve years of cham 


gree hestowed on fistix 


pionship, and was deemed ripe 
for the chimney corner Job 
Fitzsimmons, in the mid-thirties, 
cajoled reporters with much flat 
tery and many cigars to name 
him the Grand Old Man of the 
ring. Jim Corbett had barely 
passed thirty-five when he turned 
his back on youth and activity 
and took up the senescent voca- 
tion of actor-—and so on down 
the line 

Thus there seemed nothing 
ironical to Ca! Benton or to his 
raucous adorers when he became 
a Grand Old Man ata 
most workers are still in the full 
heyday of maturing youth. Yet 
nd the bulk 
of the sporting public, resented 
Cal's retirement {rom the ring. 
They pointed out, with entire 
truth, that he still carried a phe- 
nomenal punch in both hands 
hard to hurt as a rhi- 


noceros: and that despite his 


nage when 


these same adorers, a 


and was as 


crushing load of years, he was as 
agile as a cat—-a bearcat, at that, 
the bearcat being a mythical hy 

brid devised by latter-day orthol- 
ogists in order to add a verbal 
mansard roof to the superlative 
degree Example: positive, com- 
parative, superlative, bearcat 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


OLD 


By Albert Payson Terhune 


HAROLD 





January 1,192! 





the very top of the Pitvale ladder when 
the time should come; and that a lot 
of folks had a way of looking leery at a 
lad whose father slugged for a living. 

Cal rented the big second floor 
of the Gill Building and spent a 


LuwN D 











plump slice of his earnings in fit- 
ting it up to suit Mildred’s taste. 
Mildred even went so far as to 
make pilgrimages to New York 
and to Philadelphia, just to visit 
successful studios of the sort and 
to bring home mental pictures of 
their most desirable points. 

Cal assented meekly to all her 
suggestions, gagging only a little 
at her dictum that he must hire 
a less battered and hideous as- 
sistant than poor Bud Kelleher. 
So Bud was shunted to the job of 
rubber and roustabout and in- 
structor of the semiweekly class 
recruited from the other side of 
the tracks, and Ira Mack was /»- 
stalled as the professor’s regular 
assistant. 

In every way—in looks and 
manners most of all— Mack was 
a vast improvement on the rough- 
necked Bud Kelleher. Like Cal, 
he was a Pitvale product. He 
was handsome, pleasant of man- 
ner, a high-school graduate and 
a former soda clerk in the Cody 
& Spogg drug store. At twenty 
he had sought to capitalize his 
Y. M. C. A. gymnasium boxing 
and his elastic young strength 
and phenomenal reach. Where- 
fore he had come to Cal Benton 
for aid and counsel. 

Cal gave him both. He did 
more. In the intervals of his own 
training he took the youth under 
his wing, shaping him up and 
guiding him across the wide and 
treacherous No Man’s Land 
which divides the very cleverest 
amateur from the most mediocre 
professional. Under Benton’s 
tutelage Ira Mack had burgeoned 
forth into a genuine comer. Cal 
had got him a minor fight or two, 
and had coached him to victory. 
But, except in novels and movies, 
the aspiring young athlete does 
not become a champion, or even 
an established fighter, without 
long and weary waiting. 

Mack still had much to learn. 








Cal Benton knew better than 
anyone else that he had years of 
superlative fighting left in his wiry system. 
Also that a rigidly clean life and a brain which actually 
functioned were assets that made him the peer of many a 
far younger pugilist. He did not want to retire. He was 
doing splendidly in his profession. He was making good 
money at it 

He was saving great chunks of his cash, and he had a 
shamefaced pride in his own stark squareness and in the 
renown it had brought him 

But Mildred wanted him to retire. She had kept at him 
for months about it. Mildred was the wife Cal had mar- 
ried on his twenty-first birthday. She was his sole man- 
ager and mentor. She was a roomy, capable woman, 
easy-going and a grand pal. But now and then she had a 
way of making up her mind, and at such rare times she 
scored a clean job of it by making up Cal’s mind too. 
This was one of those rare times. 

It began when Mrs. Cody, wife of the senior partner of 
the prominent retail drug house of Cody & Spogg, refused 
to let her pigtailed daughter, Almeria, go to the dancing- 
school reception with twelve-year-old Orville Benton on 
the ground that she didn't want her priceless offspring to 
be seen in public with the son of a common prize fighter. 

No less than five eager neighbors brought this gossip 
trophy to the Benton house on McKinley Road within the 
hour, and laid it avidly at Mrs. Benton’s spacious feet. 
That day marked the opening of Mildred’s campaign 
against her spouse’s profession. 

It was not a question of quarrels or of nagging or of 
tears. None of those unsportsmanly weapons had place in 


or bearcatic 


Mack Came Back to His Home Town Every Month 
or So to See His Parents and to Call on The Girt 


Mildred’s arsenal. She merely repeated to Cal what Mrs. 
Cody had said. She pointed out that Orville was growing 
up, that this was his home town, that the people who 
liked him now were going to be his friends in later years, 
and that the children who were taught to shun him now 
would grow up with an idea that he was some sort of out- 
cast. She said she didn’t want her wonderful boy to be 
barred out of Pitvale’s social life on account of his sire’s 
line of work. She asked Cal if he wanted to handicap 
the boy that way. Then she bade him think it over, which 
Cal did. 

A week or so afterward Mildred read her husband a 
dozen lines of reprint on an inside page of the Pitvale 
Chronicle, telling of the good money earned by retired 
fighters who had set up physical-culture studios, capitaliz- 
ing their fame and their training knowledge by whipping 
paunchy business men into shape and teaching glove work 
and wrestling to young amachoor warriors. This, she 
opined, was a vocation no man need be ashamed of, carry- 
ing, as it did, the shimmering title of ‘‘ Professor’’ and a 
daily association with rich folks. She added as an after- 
thought that the second floor of the Gill Building was for 
rent, and that it would make a lovely studio. 

Yet so tenderly did Mildred amputate that at the last 
Cal was more than half certain he had cut loose from the 
ring of his own unaided volition. He explained to Bud 
Kelleher, his dumbly worshiping sparring partner and 
handy man, that he wanted little Ortié-to take his place at 





It occurred to him that he could 
capitalize this period of waiting 
by accepting Cal’s offer of an assistantship in the new 
studio. There, under the Grand Old Man’s own wise 
tutelage, he could perfect himself in the fight game, could 
keep in increasingly good condition, could make useful 
acquaintances, and could receive fair pay for doing it all. 

From the outset Cal Benton’s physical-culture studio 
was a success. The trackside youths paid his stiff fees with 
eagerness, and got double value for their money. More 
and more men from the business district took to dropping 
in at the studio on the way home or at noon for half an 
hour’s congenial labor at meridian reducing and insomnia 
smashing. Even the people on the Hill made a fad of 
physical culture, and welcomed this chance to come face 
to face with a redoubtable prize fighter without loss of 
prestige. Soon also there were triweekly classes for women. 

Mildred expanded joyously over the triumph of the new 
venture. No longer did Mrs. Cody and others of her ultra- 
exclusive set refuse to let their daughters dance with 
Orville, the only son of Professor Calvin Benton. 

Cal noted his wife’s bliss, and he tried to make it atone 
to him for the dull routine of his professorial work. Some- 
times, as he tried patiently to teach some gilded scion of 
the Hill not to leave his face and body wide open to the 
slowest cross counter, his disloyal memory would slip back 
to the white swirl of arc lights, the grip and slip of rosined 
soles on a gritty canvas floor, the roar and jumble of 
thousands of sweating spectators and the pad-pad-pad of 
wet gloves on hot flesh in his own tiger rush at a shiftily 
deadly ring opponent. But dutifully he pushed away such 
glowingly red recollections, and tried to think only of 




















we SS 








Mildred’s delight in his new occupation and in the social 
future he was building up for husky little Orville. On the 
whole, Cal was content. So is a broken-legged old setter 
as he cuddles to the hearth on a frosty morning and hears 
the younger dogs sweeping fieldward. 

Then, too, between times there was genuine joy in 
working over Ira Mack, and in building up the promising 
lad into something of what he himself once had been. 
Into this task Cal threw himself with all the rapture of a 
creator, and finely did Mack respond to the coaching; so 
well, indeed, that within a year the young disciple was 
ready to go forth into the ring world. 

Cal bade him godspeed, and trained him for his first big 
fight—a fight arranged for him through Benton’s influ- 
ence. He crouched in Ira’s corner and guided him to a 
victory so sensational as to stamp Mack’s obscure name 
on the minds of a thousand fight fans and a dozen sporting 
editors. 

The rest was easy. Mack went from fight to fight, from 
win to win. With all the glorious impetus of youth and 
perfect condition he hammered on, and from a distance 
wily old Cal did the guiding. Presently even this long- 
distance guiding was no longer needed. Ira Mack had 
struck his own gait. He was boring through the light- 
heavyweight division at top speed, and Cal read and 
reread each and every newspaper account of his protégé’s 
battles. He was glad clear through. No longer in weak 
moments did he mourn his own retirement. No longer 
was he haunted by ring pictures wherein he faced and 
downed the best man who could be pitted against him. 
Ira Mack had taken up the work where Cal had left it off, 
and was carrying it on in dandy shape—which comforted 
Benton to the very soul of him. And it made up for his own 
sacrifice. 

A year or so later the sporting world of Pitvale was re- 
joiced at word that its drug clerk emeritus had reached the 
point where he could and did challenge Con Fitzroy, the 
holder of the East’s light-heavyweight title, and forced 
that reluctant paladin to sign up with him for a fight. 

The Pitvale Elks held their annual outdoor carnival 
during the latter part of the month in which Mack was 
training for his championship battle, and the entertain- 
ment committee hit on a happy idea. They induced Ira to 
make the forty-mile trip from his training quarters to 
Pitvale, there to box a friendly three-round exhibition 
bout for the delectation of his fellow townsmen. As an 
added stroke of genius, the committee persuaded Cal 
Benton, the Grand Old Man of nearly thirty-eight, to be 
Mack’s opponent in the amicable contest. The prospect of 
seeing Pitvale’s newest idol and its perpetual idol in the 
ring together, even 
for three exhibition 


to go into the ring first, and thus give Mack a chance for 
true championship entrance. 

Cal’s heart was big with pride and delight as he slipped 
modestly through the ropes. Everybody was applauding 
him. But his joy was not bred of these plaudits. Indeed, 
beyond a perfunctory nod and grin, he scarce heeded them. 
This crowd was due to see and give homage to his beloved 
and mighty successor, the athlete he had molded and 
trained, and to honor Mack’s prowess. Cal reveled in the 
prospect. His pride was all vicarious. 

Then, moving with graceful condescension, Ira Mack 
strode forth from the dressing rooms and made his way 
toward the ring, and again the applause roared skyward. 
But with a little frown of perplexed annoyance Cal noted 
that its volume and spontaneity were decidedly less than 
in the greeting he himself had received. He could not 
understand. He was an old has-been, a cheap teacher of 
physical culture, a third-rater they saw every day, and 
Mack was the coming light-heavyweight champion of the 
East. Ira should have had ten times the welcome that the 
crowd accorded to his back-number opponent. 

With no conception at all of his boundless popularity 
among his townsmen, Cal was honestly bewildered. Nor 
did the wide smiles of Mildred and Orville, in a ringside 
box, comfort him for this slur on his friend. He glanced 
across at Ira’s corner in shy apology. Yes, Mack, too, had 
noticed the difference in his welcome and in Benton's. 
Anyone could see that. He was scowling, and it was not a 
professional ring scowl, but the real thing. 

Mack was jarred, as no jaw punch had ever jarred him. 
He was the town celebrity. Cal was confessedly a dead 
one. Yet there had been a warmth of real affection, as 
well as a deafening volume, in the salute accorded to the 
old-timer, which had not marked the younger man’s meed 
of applause. The thing was impossible at first glance. Yet 
as his handlers coaxed the gloves on his lean hands Mack 
began to seek the answer, and presently, to his own satis- 
faction, he found it. 

These home-town dubs remembered Cal’s long line of 
conquests, and that he had left the ring unbeaten. Thus 
to their silly notion he was still the peerless champion of 
his class. Always he would remain so to them, to the ex- 
clusion of younger and better men. Always Mack must 
content himself with second honors—must let The Girl 
hear folk praise another local celebrity above him, must 
let his parents and his kid brother and everybody look on 
him as the inferior of past-worthy old Benton. Always! 
Unless— unless — 

And into Mack’s agile brain flashed the instant and 
complete remedy. In his savage frame of mind he greeted 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 13 


the new thought as a genuine inspiration. The more he 
rolled it round in his brain the more he knew it for the one 
thing to do. Old Cal, in his own corner, saw the glower on 
Ira’s tanned face merge into a grim resolution. He gave 
mental credit to his disciple for sportsmanliness in banish 
ing discontent at his lesser welcome and in making up his 
mind to do his level best to win the approval of the crowd 
He grinned encouragement across to Ira, but failed to 
catch the hero's eye 

As the men discarded their bath robes and stood forth 
for the mimic battle Cal nodded approval at the perfect 
condition of his chum; a condition easily visible through 
the jersey shirt and long trunks which the carnival com- 
mittee had imposed; and Benton glanced ruefully down 
at the almost imperceptible stratum of flesh that was be 
ginning to adorn his own waistline. He was glad, though, 
that the crowd could see the contrast, and he thanked his 
stars he was not in his one-time battleship form. 

For the first two rounds of the three the men boxed with 
spectacular briskness, hitting lightly and doing much 
showy footwork. Cal stuck to the defensive, for he knew 
that nineteen-twentieths of the spectators were rank 
novices in such matters, and that to the novice the ag 
gressor in a boxing bout seems always to be having much 
the better of it. So he let Mack do the attacking, and more 
than once he let showy blows break through his own guard 
by way of exploiting Ira’s skill. Cal was well satisfied with 
his-pupil’s fine exhibition and at the approval it began to 
evoke. He was happier than he had been since his own 
retirement. 

Midway through the third round Mack feinted for the 
jaw with his left, changing adroitly the direction of the 
punch to drive it into the wind. Cal grinned in pleased 
reminiscence. He knew this maneuver and had taught it 
to Mack. The change of direction was planned to be swift 
and skillful, yet not quite enough so to deceive a wary 
opponent. Such an opponent was scheduled to see the 
change barely in time to cover the wind. Thereby, if the 
thing was done quickly enouzh and if the opponent played 
true to average mental form, the sharp effort to protect 
the wind would leave the jaw momentarily exposed to the 
right hook which was the climax of the stunt. 

Having taught the trick to Mack, Cal could have 
blocked it with both eyes shut. But it was a pretty bit of 
work. And as both he and Ira were hitting at quarter 
steam, he was minded to let the hook get past his guard 
It was good for a round of shouts, especially if Cal should 
stagger back dazedly from the noisily mild impact 

With scrambling haste Benton protected his wind, low 
ering both hands—and Mack’s right hook crashed home, 

Cal did not fol 
low out his plan of 





rounds, set the | 
sporting element of 
the town astir with 
anticipation. 

The newspapers 
painted the picture 
in such dazzling 
colors that Mildred 
herself was brought 
to understand that 
this bloodless ap- 
pearance of her re- 
formed husband in 
the ring would not 
mar in any way 
his lofty social 
standing, but 
would add to his 
studio’s renown. 

Mack had made 
Pitvale his occa- 
sional headquar- 
ters during his 
many months of 
ring advancement. 
The sight of him 
on the streets was 
no novelty. He 
came back to his 
home town every 
month or so to see 
his parents and to 
call, in resplendent 
raiment, on The 
Girl. 

His parents and 
hisbumpy-muscled 
kid brother, Byron, 
were in the audito- 
rium for the three- 
round bout at the 
Elks’ carnival. So 
was The Girl. So 
was most of Pit- 











vale. Obligingly 
Cal Benton offered 


“In the Fifth Round You'll Get it, Iry. 


This is Your Last Fight, Son" 


reeling back to the 
ropes and of 
steadying himself 
against ther as if 
by much difficulty. 
Instead his body 
stood quite still, 
while his head 
snapped back. 
Then in a most un- 
spectacular way he 
slumped at the 
knees and toppled 
forward on his face. 

The crowd went 
wild. Not one 
spectator in a hun 
dred had the box 
ing lore to know 
that a stricken 
fighter who falls 
face forward to 
ward his opponent 
is tenfold worse 
damaged by the 
blow thanis he who 
is merely knocked 
over on his back 
The latter fall may 
spell nothing more 
than harmless im- 
petus. The former 
means uncon- 





SCLlOuUsn ess 

Yet there was 
something about 
the murderous 
force of the blow 
and of the wild- 
beast glint in the 
striker’s eye and 
* ‘ee. 2a | in the utterness of 
’ Benton's collapse 
that raked to light 

(Continued on 

Page 101) 








14 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


Foodstuffs amd if 


By CHARLES MOREAU HARGER 


OWN on the 
[) weiter edge of 
the Middle West 
Wheat Belt late last fal! 
occurred an unprece 
dented incident A 
heavily loaded trucl 
was purring along the | 
dirt road when three 
men stepped into the 
highway and halted the 


driver 


“Where are you going 
with that wheat?” 

‘To the elevator 
wheat’s up six cents to 
day.” 

“Yes, and you get a 
dollar a bushel less than 
it cost to raise it.’ 

“But this is the onl: 
market, and the price 
is down nearly a dollar 
since July.” 

“If you and the rest 
of us will hold our grain 
it willgoupagain. Take 
it back home and wait 
a while 

After a discussion the 
truck was turned and 
went back to the own- 
er’s granary Other 
trucks and wagons, also 
bound for the shipping 

tation, were stopped by 
the picketers, generally 
with the same result 
Sometimes the argu 
ment was presented “I 





t 
must have some mone 
for my family,” and the 
driver proceeded 

In itself the picketing was not important, but it was a 
symptom of a movement that in the last months of the 


year caused thousands of country merchants sleepless 
nights and was discussed in long sessions of bank director- 
ates. Popularly it was known as the “farmers’ strike”; 
actually it was the outgrowth of meditation over the effect 
of the transportation breakdown earlier in the season. 
The farmer reasoned that since car shortage had kept high 
the price of his foodstuffs, the same effect would be accom- 
plished by a general withholding of his products from 
market. To a degree it was an organized movement; 
wheat growers’ associations, claiming 70,000 members 
who had pledged themselves to “abide by the regulations 
adopted by such organization for the purpose of regulating 
the marketing and price of our wheat after 1919.” Reso- 
lutions were adopted declaring that all members should 
refuse tosell any wheat after October 25, 1920, for less than 
three dollars a bushel at central points, meaning about 
$2.50 at the primary markets. Through October and No- 
vember meetings to secure members were held in hundreds 
of schoolhouses and court rooms 


Supply Overtakes Demand 


7 Q! PPOSE,” Lasked one of the organizers, “ you are able 

WW to withhold enough grain from the market so that con- 
sumers are compelled to offer three dollars a bushel and you 
release your members. Naturally each will load up a truck 
or wagon and start for the nearest shipping point. What 
will happen?” 

“Why-—wheat will go down again,”’ was his reply. 
“Only by distribution of selling can a price be maintained. 
But this is our only way to get relief from selling below 
cost.” 

He fairly stated the problem. The producer was honest 
in his intent. It is unfair to accuse the farmer of being a 
a profiteer in his effort to secure what he considered a fair 
return for his labor. He planted the 1920 crop with high- 
priced labor; he harvested it at record expense for imple- 
ments and workers; he was ready to sell it in late summer 
and early autumn— but there were no cars. Then in late 
autumn, when the railroads began to catch up with the 
demand for freight transportation, he saw the market 
decline thirty per cent, and according to his figuring he was 
to obtain less for his product than it had cost him. He was 
aggrieved that he was the first to suffer from deflation, and 
took the only way he knew to protect himself 

The market for a few days responded slightly to the 
publicity given the “strike.” On October twenty-fifth, 














ITLGITACIGL 





January 1,192! 


! Thrills 





‘Don’t bother me!’ he 

exclaimed. ‘What have 

you got?’ I told him! 
| had four different styles 

of good sellers. ‘Ten 
dozen of each. Get out; 
don’t bother me. A lot 
of folks are waiting.’ 
To-day I could not sell 
him gloves with a gold 
bond premium thrown 
in for each pair.” 

The country mer- 
chant had been most 
generous with his cus- 
tomers. He had ex- 
tended credit liberally 
and had bought heavily 
because he understood 
that deliveries were un- 
certain and goods hard 
to get. Take the in- 
stance of an Oklahoma 
hardware dealer who 
was carrying a line of 
tractors. He received 
late in October twenty- 
two machines that 
should have been deliv- 
ered in August. The 
season was over and he 
must carry them until 
next spring — more than 
$22,000 in stock which 
may be worth less than 
he paid for it by next 
summer. Cheerful? 
Hardly. His banker 
wanted to know why 
he was loading up with 











Turkey Red Wheat, Growing Fifty Bushels to the Acre 


the date when it was to begin, cash wheat was worth in 
Kansas City $2.09 a bushel; on September first it had been 
$2.46. But by November fifteenth it was down to $1.80. 
Something else was happening. The export demand had 
decreased; foreign crops were reported better than the 
previous year; Canada had some 200,000,000 bushels to 
spare for import, duty free. Supply and demand were 
making their effect felt, though the producer insisted that 
the decline resulted from the grain-exchange transactions. 

Another thing: The organized farmers were but a small 
percentage in number compared with the total producers; 
and perhaps not all strictly carried out their pledges. At 
any rate, as the car shortage lessened, wheat shipments 
continued, in some primary markets increasing — the grow- 
ers evidently convinced that higher prices were not in sight 
or compelled by circumstances to sell. Many were firm. 

A type was the farmer out in Central Kansas who drove 
with a truckload of grain to market and when told the 
price refused to sell. He went over to his bank and asked 
a loan of $300 to pay his threshing bill, three months over- 
due and yet unsettled. 

“Why don’t you sell that wheat out there on the truck 
and get the money?” demanded the banker. 

“Can't get enough; I am going to hold it for three 
dollars.” 

“And you want me to finance your speculation? Noth- 
ing doing.” 

The loan was refused and the farmer took his wheat 
home. On the whole, receipts decreased materially. 

Important as has been the farmer’s problem, the effects 
reached much farther than his personal affairs. Over a 
dozen agricultural states the late fall and early winter are 
the merchants’ harvest day. Normally the foodstuffs 
raised during the season have been mostly marketed. 
Bank deposits increase, the preholiday trade becomes 
brisk. Stores blossom with full shelves and windows, dis- 
playing goods purchased six months before. Business feels 
the impetus of a spending fund scattered over every 
township. Last spring and summer the country merchant 
foresaw a repetition of this pleasing experience. Prices of 
foodstuffs were high; the crop outlook was promising; areal 
business revival, following the slump of late spring, was in 
prospect. So he bought heavily, encouraged by the reports 
of shortages of manufactured goods. 

“T could not get the merchants to take time to look at 
my samples,” said a glove salesman, telling of the condi- 
tions in the farm country. “One day I found a customer 
drawing gasoline for a tourist. He was grinding the 
pump handle and watching the gauge as I approached. 


such goods at that late 
date. In dry goods, 
clothing, shoes and fur- 
niture the same condition existed, and the holiday season 
came on with shelves prepared for customers. 

But the farmers were holding their foodstuffs, and their 
families had no ready money to spend. The truth is that 
the overstock exists all down the line, from manufacturer 
to jobber, from jobber to retailer, from retailer to customer. 
Buying has been liberal throughout the farm country. 
Most families can get along without purchasing more 
wearables for several months. In the last ten weeks of the 
year every country store was adorned with canvas signs, 
vivid in red, blue and black, announcing “readjustment,” 
“reduction” and “special” sales—an effort to move stocks 
and maintain trade activity . Mostly the attempt was only 
moderately successful. The customer buys when goods are 
going uj» and not when they are going down. In the latter 
instance he waits, hoping for a yet lower price level. 


Poverty Brought by Plenty 


O THE country merchant had during the closing months 

of the year a financial problem of his own. He had 
accounts on his books, notes given for goods and dis- 
counted at his bank. When he urged the debtors to sell 
something and meet the obligations he received a reply 
that it was a poor time to sell—products would be higher 
after a while. The banks wanted the merchant to take up 
the notes but the customer was not to be angered by legal 
proceedings, lest his trade be lost. The whole machinery 
of finance moved sluggishly. 

Out of the merchant’s reduced prices came, however, 
some weakening of the producer’s claim that he was the 
only sufferer from deflation. He could undoubtedly buy 
his winter’s supply of commodities cheaper than he had 
expected; others besides himself were taking a loss through 
the process of liquidation. Was it not fair, he was asked, 
that he should be willing to sell at least a part of his food- 
stuffs and allow the course of trade an uninterrupted flow? 
This country produced one of the greatest crop yields of its 
history —3,199,000,000 bushels of corn, 750,000,000 bushels 
of wheat, 1,444,000,000 bushels of oats, and small grains 
and fruits in profusion. It was logical to expect that this 
influx of basic wealth would have its effect in making the 
process of the after-war financial readjustment compara- 
tively easy. Yet corn has been burned in Nebraska and 
Iowa because it was cheaper than coal, hundreds of thou- 
sands of bushels of wheat have been heaped in great 
piles on the open prairie in Kansas for weeks at a time. 
An abnormal condition accompanied the bountifulness of 
Nature. 















“*A billion dollars in foodstuffs is stored in bins, stacks and 
granaries in the Tenth Federal Reserve Bank’s district,” 
said one of the bank’s officers in mid-November. “If 
every farmer would sell one-tenth of his holdings it would 
relieve the financial pressure and revive activity.” 

The country bankers shared with the merchants the 
effect of the withholding of grain. They had patiently 
renewed loans while the car shortage existed, and then 
when they expected relief came the new situation. Bank 
deposits dwindled—the customers were using more checks 
than deposit slips. The smaller banks rediscounted with 
the larger or borrowed on the banks’ own credit. The 
larger institutions went to the Federal Reserve system with 
such unanimity that the latter finally refused to extend 
further its loans. It pointed to the hundreds of millions 
borrowed by the agricultural and livestock sections and 
declared that safety demanded a halt. 

According to its report this is what it had done: Between 
January second and October first about 800 leading 
member banks from all sections of the country, which 
report their condition to the board weekly and which rep- 
resent approximately seventy per cent of member bank 
resources, increased their loans for agricultural, indus- 
trial and commercial purposes by an amount exceeding 
$1,800,000,000. This great increase in the credit extended 
to their customers was in the main made possible by 
the accommodation extended member banks by the Fed- 
eral Reserve banks. 


Money in Overseas Investments 


URING the same period the twelve Federal Reserve 

banks increased their holdings of agricultural and 
commercial paper by more than $500,000,000, and from 
January 23 to October 1, 1920, increased their issues of 
Federal Reserve notes by over $460,000,000. At the same 
time Federal Reserve banks having surplus funds ex- 
tended accommodation to Federal Reserve banks in 
agricultural and livestock districts by means of discounts, 
aggregating on October first over $225,000,000. 

State banking boards tried to reduce excess loans re- 
ported by country banks, with little avail. About the only 
thing possible was to help carry on and everybody refrain 
from rocking the boat. It is to the credit of the country 
bankers that in the closing months of the year they met the 
situation with courage and helpfulness, extending their 
credit to the last dollar and striving to maintain the finan- 
cial integrity of their customers and the communities they 
serve. 

What became of the withdrawn deposits? Why did they 
not reappear in the bank through the channels of local 
trade? 


“Left the country,’ one banker explained it. “The 
attraction of high interest rates has been one cause. Day 
after day we make for our customers purchases of bonds 
and preferred stocks of large business concerns. It is not 
likely that the man with $2000 deposited in our savings 
department, and drawing four per cent, is going to leave it 
there when he can buy high-grade tax-free bonds yielding 
six to eight per cent. So the deposit account is lessened 
by $2000 and the money is transferred down East. Another 
remarkable thing is the fondness for foreign bonds 
French, Belgian, Danish, Swiss, all yielding high interest. 
The investment in these goes overseas in one form or 
another. Every sort of luxury makes a drain—and 
when money leaves the farm country and goes to the in- 
dustrial centers it does not come back until it is paid for 
our foodstuffs. If we hold our foodstuffs permanently it 
will never come back, and just in that degree that the ship- 
ments are delayed does the effect reach into our home 
business.” 

Financial interests are deeply concerned about what the 
farm country is doing. Almost daily come to the leading 
bankers of the producing states telegrams and letters from 
Eastern manufacturers and business men asking what is 
the trend of trade and the outlook for production. The 
owner of a Massachusetts shoe factory watches the crop 
reports from Nebraska and Minnesota and Iowa; the grain 
exchange of Chicago in a quarter of an hour dropped the 
price of wheat seven cents a bushel on an unconfirmed 
report that the Kansas bankers would call their loans 
to farmers and compel marketing of the 1920 crop. The 
entire financial structure is sensitive to the doings of the 
vast army of producers, who are not only furnishing 
the staff of life but are a vast market for the output of 
industrial concerns. 

The “ buyers’ revolt,”’ of which so much was heard in the 
spring of 1920 and which again came into prominence late 
in autumn, causing cancellations of orders and dire distress 
to the manufacturers, had its origin in the producing 
country. It was not merely a revolt against high prices; 
it was also a revolt against low prices—for foodstuffs, the 
only thing the agricultural states had to sell. In a contest 
between consumer and producer the latter has the better 
of the argument—he can exist longer because he possesses 
the material commodity on which both must live. This 
advantage caused the upsetting of finances, and upon it the 
producer bases his hope for positive results. He may not 
have taken the best way, but he believes it the only way 
in which he can obtain justice in the disposition of his 
year’s return. 

To accomplish his financial advantage the producer has 
entered on an era of organization of which the business 
world as a whole is scarcely aware. Beginning modestly, 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 15 


and sometimes unsuccessfully, by forming coéperative 
companies for selling grain or livestock, merchandising 
has been added. Early attempts were crude; the manager 
was usually some farmer who had shown a little initiative 
but who was in nosense a merchant or dealer. Failure often 
followed. To-day the process is more scientifie. Coépera- 
tive companies hire expert managers; they adopt accepted 
business methods; with a clientéle loyal and sharing in the 
profits, if any, and with the stock scattered widely, every 
advantage is given for successful trading. Hundreds of 
codéperative stores are prospering in the agricultural states; 
thousands of grain and livestock companies are busy; co- 
operative buying and selling is an established fact; 
codperative selling of products is the next step anticipated, 
provided the organizing of the producers can be carried to 
perfection. The gathering of producers into granges, 
unions and societies has reached vast proportions. They 
have their special publications, which set forth the profits 
possible if they can act as a unit. The dream of complete 
control of products of field, orchard and ranch is most 
attractive, but it demands an organization of more com 
pactness and capital than has yet been evolved, to control 
a nation’s products. 


The Failure to Pull Together 


T HAS been found that though the producer is willing to 

join and pay his dues he is likely to resent positive orders 
from those in official positions, and to act on his own initia- 
tive. .This it is that has prevented the farmer from securing 
all the benefits from the market that he felt due him and 
has kept him from accomplishments in politics. Farming 
districts usually send lawyers instead of business men to 
Congress and to the legislature, then wonder why there is 
not devotion to their especial needs. With the power fully 
in their hands they fail so to unite their strength that they 
can have a speaking part in the drama of government. 

Naturally you find, even in the farm country, those who 
see another side to the farmer's wheat profits. Taken as a 
whole, it is estimated by producers that in the past three 
years wheat has cost from seeding to marketing $2.75 a 
bushel. But I was talking to a hard-headed country banker 
located in the very heart of the wheat country. 

“It depends on the farmer,”’ said he. ‘ There is the case 
of one of my customers—he and his fifteen-year-old boy 
with tractors put in their wheat and did most of the 
harvesting. He has six thousand bushels all in his bins. 
It certainly did not cost him, even counting high day wages, 
$16,500 to raise it. 

“He remarked the other day, ‘I haven't made a dollar 
on my farm for three years.’ 

(Continued on Page 125) 














3 es Ot 


abe ee 


RS 








In the Wheat Fietds of Saskatchewan 








) RING the peace conference in Paris it was 
possible to stay in a good hotel, without 
financial ruin, only if one happened to be a 

diplomat, the private secretary of a diplomat, the 


typist of the private secretary of a 


diplomat, a newspaper correspondent 


ILLUSTRATED 


16 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


The Lieutenant of the 


By SIR PHILIP GIBBS 


PRESTOWN 


Br JAMES mM. 





January 1,192! 


As I came upstairs toward the door of their 
apartment, which was wide open, the boy Charles 
was clasping his mother’s dress and imploring her 
to go out with him. 

“Maman, maman!”’ cried the boy. 
“T want to see Papa Joffre and Mar- 








with unlimited expenses, or a million 


lire Being at the moment none of 


those things, but only an unattached 
onlooker of the greatest drama in the 
world, I sitting-room In 
the Rue de la Pompe at Passy, and 
well as comfortable. It 
at a time when 
expensive to fantastic 
with the feverish 
after 
acrifice, went a lit- 


LOOK @a bed 
was lucky as 
was cheap and quiet, 
Paris wa 
heights and noisy 
excitement of a people who, 
years of frightful 
tle mad with the joy of victory and 
believed — before the time of disillu- 
ionment—that from the peace table 
at Versailles would come compensa- 
tion for their ruin 

“Germany will be made to pay!” 
was the confession of faith in Paris, 
and that false belief in Germany's 
the entire costs of 


capacity to pay 


war—apart from the raising of the 


innumerable dead — was boistered up 
by the government and the press. So 
Paris gave itself up to dancing and 
singing in the streets; toa pagan riot 
of love and ecstasy, except where in 
quiet rooms women wept a little be- 
cause the end of war and great victory 
would not bring back their men 

In one of the rooms where I stayed 
there was a woman who wept a little, 
and I guessed it was for the same rea- 
son. She was the mother of a small 
hoy aged seven or eight, by the look 
of him, with whom I had made friends 
as he played about on the staircase 
He was a beautiful boy, rather Eng- 
lish in color and features to be the 
son of a French mother. He had a 
mop of flaxen hair cut straight round 
the neck in the bobbed style of grown- 
up girls, and blue eyes. He seemed 
to me a lonely youngster, playing so 
much by himself on the staircase, with 
toy engines and the little lead soldiers 
beloved of all French children; but 
he was not unhappy, and answered 
brightly and merrily when I spoke to 
him 

“Fine soldiers!"’ I said when we 
first met. “Are they all Frenchmen?” 

‘Nearly all,”’ he answered in quick, 
childish French. “‘ Here is Papa Joffre 
and Foch and Petain and Guynemer 
the ace. But I have some English 
too, Six of them. They cost six sous 
apiece,and I cannot buy more because 
my maman is too poor.” 

“How about the enemy?” 

He called them “sacrés boches,”’ 
and told me that they were not sold 
intheshops. He had toimagine them, 
and he killed hundreds of them every 
day. 

“During the war maman always 
asked me how many boches I had 
killed, and when I said ‘One hundred 








shal Foch! I want to see the flags 
passing, and all the soldiers!” 

“The crowds are too big, my son,”’ 
said the young mother. “Let us stay 
quietly at home, and I will buy you 
some bonbons.”’ 

“T don’t want 
shouted the boy. 
victory march!” 

He raged at her with a sudden 
childish fury. 

“T will go out!” he stormed ina 
desperate way. “You are not good 
if you do not take me!” 

Madame de Thilloy spoke to him 
sharply and slapped his hands, which 
were clinging to her. 

“Silence! You are behaving likea 
little boche. I will shut you up alone 
if you are so ill-mannered.”’ 

It seemed to me a harsh thing to 
say, though the child had lost his 
temper in a sudden passion of rage 
and disappointment. But then this 
French girl, who was so young a 
mother, bent down and put her arms 
about the boy and kissed his flaxen 
hair. 

“My little son,” she cried in a piti- 
ful way, ‘“‘do not ask me togoout! I 
have not the courage! I am a little 
sad to-day!” 

The boy jerked himself away from 
her embrace and stood breathing 
hard, with a mutinous look; and it 
was then that I passed, having heard 
what had happened as | stood a mo- 
ment on the landing. 

“Forgive me,” I said to the girl— 
even now she was hardly more than 
that; “‘will you let me take your boy 
out to see the victory procession? 
It’s a historic day and he ought not 
to miss it. As a French boy he hasa 
right to see it.” 

The girl looked at me in a startled 
way, not having seen my approach, 
and then, I am sure, she was going to 
say something which was almost on 
her lips before she checked the words. 
It was something enormously tragic, 
as I now know, but after that hesita- 
tion in which our eyes met she spoke 
ordinary words of thanks. 

“You are very kind. It would be 
a great disappointment to my boy not 
to go, and I am too unwell to-day to 
take him. If it would not be asking 
too much ——”’ 

“T shall be delighted,” I said. 

That was indeed the truth, and I 
had a fine day with Charles de 
Thilloy, whose rapture and en- 
thusiasm at the sight of the French 
generals and colors and troops helped 
me to face the ghosts of great armies 
of dead youth who marched beside 
these living men, and the thought of 


any bonbons!” 
“T want to see the 








this morning,’ she used to say ‘That 
is not enough!’ Sothen I said ‘Two 
hundred,’ and she said again ‘That is not enough!’ Some- 
times I would say ‘A thousand,’ and she would smile and 
say ‘That is better!’ She was very pleased when I said 
*A hundred thousand.’ ‘Soon we will win the war,’ she said, 
‘if you go on killing them like that.’”’ 

I believe this child was convinced in his imaginative 
way that he had helped to win the war by so great a 
slaughter of the enemy, and I could not help shivering 
a little at the gruesomeness of his game, which acquired a 
kind of reality because of his mother’s greed for more dead. 

Yet she was not a grim-looking woman. Indeed, I 
thought—and still think—that she had a pretty and 
seductive face, in spite of being a little too thin and 
fragile. She was quite young. She could not have been 
more than a girl when this boy was born before the war; 
and that she was a lady of good birth and refinement was 


“It's a Pity He Was Born,’ He Growted. 


obvious in every gesture she made and every word she 
spoke. Madame de Thilloy was her name, so the con- 
cierge told me, and her boy was Charles. 

“Her husband?” I asked, and the fat old woman who 
acted as concierge in a dirty little room on the ground floor 
of this house in the Rue de la Pompe mumbled something 
about the cruelty of war and the massacre of youth. 

I was not surprised therefore when, on the day of the 
peace celebrations, I noticed that Madame de Thilloy 
still wore her black dress and that her eyes were red with 
weeping at a time when the music of victory was passing 
down the streets and hundreds of thousands of young 
women were laughing and singing and throwing flowers at 
passing soldiers and kissing English and American officers 
and proclaiming to the high heaven their joy because life 
was good again after the years of death. 


“I’ve Said So a Thousand Times"* 


all the ruin that was left in Europe 
after a victory so hardly won. 

The boy seemed to me to embody the spirit of young 
France. The color that flushed his cheeks, the light of his 
eyes, the shrill cheers that broke from him when the heroes 
passed proved the ardor of his young heart, instinctive and 
inherited, for the glory of France as it was seen in the war 
and in God knows how many wars—by the supreme valor 
of her manhood. I could not deny that glory, having seen 
it in suffering as well as in valor; yet with this young boy 
by my side I hoped with a kind of prayer that the youth 
of his race who had been left alive, and these children of 
victory, would escape from such another massacre as that 
which had soaked their fields in blood, and would adopt 
some philosophy greater than the power of the sword. 

I took him to a little restaurant in some side street off 
the Avenue Victor Hugo, and we managed in spite of the 
crowd to get a table for two wedged in by the window. 

















THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 17 


I remember how young French officers and their women- 
folk looked at the child as he sat opposite me on a chair 
made higher by some old bound copies of L’Illustration, 
and how they smiled at him with a kind of homage in 
their eyes because of his beauty of childhood. To all of 
them he symbolized, I think, the promise of the future, 
like a figure of Cupid, and to them as well as to me was 
young France personified. At least it was so to those who 
sat near enough to hear his prattle in French, though 
others took him for my son, with his fair hair and blue 
eyes, and said, “C'est un vrai petit Anglais’ —truly English. 

He tucked into a big meal, brandishing his knife and 
fork like a buccaneer, and taking great quaffs of lemonade 
and clapping his hands with delight when the waiter, at 
my order, brought him a coupe Jacques. He was old in 
manner for his years, and when I smoked cigarettes over 
coffee he sat with his hands clasped under his dimpled 
chin, chatting gravely and answering my questions with 
old-fashioned politeness. 

‘*Do you remember what the world was like before the 
war?” was one thing I asked him, to keep the conversa- 
tion going; and he thought hard before he answered. 

“*Sometimes I think I do, monsieur, and sometimes I 
think I don’t. It’s like when one wakes up surprised with 
a dream. One doesn’t know if the dream has left off. 
N’est-ce pas?” 

“Yes, I understand. 
other kind of home?”’ 

‘‘My mother says I don’t. She says I’m dreaming, or 
remembering a dream, when I tell her that I once lived 
in a big house with a clock in the hall as high as a man, and 
a winding staircase going up as high as the Eiffel Tower, 
and my father walking up and down a big room as wide 
as the Place de la Concorde, singing songs in a voice like 
the organ of the Madeleine.” 

I laughed at the child, and noticed the smiling faces of 
other people who were listening 

‘That sounds very much like a dream!” 

‘There is something else I remember,” 
‘but maman says it is a dream too.” 

“What is that?”’ 

“T remember the first day of war, when all the people 
were going away and all the women were crying. Father 
went away too, and mother was crying. She came and 
cried by my bed before I went to sleep in the night. I 
stroked her hand and said ‘Little maman, when will my 
father come back?’ and she cried again so that my face 


But don’t you remember some 


said the boy, 


was wet when she touched it with her cheek, and she said, 
‘Your father will never come back, my little son.’ 
then I cried too.” 

He spoke these words in a matter-of-fact way, without 
pathos or self-pity, which is not in the nature of children, 


And 








but I saw how they touched the hearts of people at the 
table close to us. There was a painted girl there with a 
young officer—not a very good girl, I should say, but her 
eyes filled with tears, and she spoke to the officer and said, 
“C'est triste, ca!” 

““My mother is sometimes a little strange,”’ said the boy. 
“She does not like me to speak about my father, who was 
killed. When I ask her how many Germans he put to 
death before they shot him, she says ‘We will not talk 
about that,’ and if I ask too often she gets very white and 
angry.” 

I made him talk about other things, and for a time kept 
him interested by blowing smoke rings and making a funny 
face with orange peel. But a little later he spoke about his 
home life again. 

“Perhaps I'll have a new father soon. My maman 
can't always say no to the Lieutenant Méricourt, do you 
think?” 

“T don’t know the Lieutenant Méricourt. Who is he?” 

Young Charles de Thilloy was surprised by my ig- 
norance. 

‘But he is very famous, the Lieutenant Méricourt! He 
has the croix de guerre and the Légion d'honneur, and was 
three times cited before the army for valor.”’ 

“T ought to have known,” I said humbly. 

“That was how he lost his arm. The croix de guerre is 
generally given for an arm ora leg oraneye. That seems to 
me a little silly, but it is the rule, I think.” 

““T suppose the bravest men are most likely to lose their 
arms and legs,”’ I suggested. 

“Foch hasn't, and he is the bravest of them all!” said 
this patriotic child. Then he returned to the subject of 
Lieutenant Méricourt, who obviously came next to Foch 
in his list of heroes. ‘‘He wants maman and me to go and 
live with him. He loves maman more than anyone in the 
world, and after that he loves me. And I love him, so 
that it would be splendid to have him for a father.” 

“T hope it will happen,” I said. 

““Madame Bertrand says the Lieutenant Méricourt will 
never marry my mother, and when I told her she was a 
lying old cow she beat me over the back with a broom.” 

“Tt was rather naughty to call her that,” I remarked, 
for the sake of discipline and high morality. ‘“ But who is 
this Madame Bertrand?” 

“But surely you know Madame Bertrand! 
concierge. She is as fat as the full moon.” 

It was true. I remembered the name of the old woman 
who always slept too soundly to pull the cord of the out- 
side door at night until I had rung the bell to the limit of 
patience. 

We met her when we went home handin hand. Madame 
Bertrand was with her husband, and both of them were 


She is our 


intoxicated by this day of victory, though neither of them, 
I am certain, owed any of their elation to alcoholic drink 
The old woman’s bonnet was askew and her face was as red 
as the rag of revolution, though beaming with patriotic 
joy. Monsieur Bertrand, a little wizened man, was hold 
ing his wife’s hand as though they two were a lover and his 
I am sure they had been dancing through the street 
of Paris, like so many others we had passed. They were 
out of breath when they came up to the courtyard of the , 
tall house in the Rue de la Pompe of which they were the 
guardians. 

“A glorious procession!’’ I said by way of greeting. 

“The day of victory, monsieur! The spirit of France 
triumphant!” 

So said the old man, taking off his hat and wiping his 
forehead with a big handkerchief that he drew from the 
tail of his coat. 

“I hope the music of our bands reached as far as Ber 
lin,”’ said the old woman. ‘“‘ Those sacrés boches know they 
are defeated now. I wish every one of them were dead, 
and all their race, for what they made us suffer.” 

“T killed a hundred thousand of them!” said the boy 
whose hand I held. 

Madame Bertrand cackled with laughter at this state- 
ment of imaginary slaughter, and then suddenly she drew 
the boy to her bosom—he was lost for a moment in: her 
capaciousness—and spoke over his head in a solemn way 

‘*May the good Jesus have mercy on the mother of thi 
child, and all poor mothers like her!”’ 

Old Bertrand stared at the boy in a curious, shamefaced 
way 

“It’s a pity he was born,” he growled. 
thousand times.” 

“Name of God, a child is a child, war or no war!” cried 
Madame Bertrand, releasing young Charles from her clasp 
and stroking his hair. She turned to me in an explanatory 
way and added, “We weren't blessed with a little one, 
monsieur.”’ 

“He'd have been killed in the shambles, like all the 
others,”’ said the old man 

“Yes, but a hero of France, mon vieur! 
who won the victory! Ah, what honor!” 

** All the same,"’ mumbled the old man, “I didn’t want 
young blood to save my old hairs.’ 

The boy was holding my hand again, and staring with 
pondering eyes at Madame Bertrand and the old man 
Whether he understood more of their talk than I did I 
know not, but when he tugged at my hand and led the way 
up the grand escalier—a dark and narrow staircase— he 
made an impatient remark which startled me 

“Those people are like my maman! They're sorry I was 


lass 


“T’ve said so a 


One of those 


born!” Continued on Page 91) 











“My Mother is Sometimes a Little Strange,"" Said the Boy. 





“‘She Does Not Like Me to Speak About My Father, Who Was Killed"’ 





18 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


THE WRONG TWIN 








January 1,192! 











“He's Been Going to That Low Dive for Weeks and Weeks. 


By Harry Leon Wilson 


GRUGER 


CHAPTER XI 


INONA hoped that some trace of the 
day's new elegance would survive into 
Wilbur's professional life, but in this 


she suffered disappointment. He refused to 
wear, save on state occasions, any of the beauti- 
ful new garments, and again went forth in the cap and dingy 
sneakers, the trousers without character and the inde- 
terminate sweater which would persist in looking soiled 
even after relentless washing 

Not even for golf with Patricia Whipple would he sound 
a higher note in apparel. Patricia came to the course, 
accompanied by the dark girl, who said she was mad about 
golf, and over the eighteen holes each strove for his exclu- 
sive attention. They bored him vastly. He became mad 
about golf himself, because they talked noisily of other 
subjects and forgot his directions, especially the dark girl, 
who was mad about a great many things. She proved to 
be a trial. She was still so hopeless at the sport that at 
each shot she had to have her hands placed for her in the 
correct grip. The two others were glad when she was called 
home, so that Patricia could enjoy the undivided attention 
of the coach. The coach was glad, but only because his 
boredom was diminished by half; and Patricia, after two 
mornings alone with him, decided that she knew all of golf 
that was desirable 

The coach was too stubbornly businesslike; regarded 
her, she detected, merely as someone who had a lot to 
learn about the game. And the going of her little friend 
had taken a zest from the pursuit of this determinedly 
golfing and unresponsive male. He was relieved when she 
abandoned the sport and when he knew she had gone back 
to school. Sometimes on the course when he watched her 
wild swings a trick of memory brought her back to him as 
the bony little girl in his own clothes—she was still bony, 
though longer—with her chopped-off hair and boyish 
swagger. Then for a moment he would feel friendly, and 
smile at her in comradeship, but she always spoiled this 
when she spoke in her grand new manner of a grown-up 
lady. 

Only Winona grieved when these golf sessions were no 
more. She wondered if Patricia had not been shocked by 
some unguarded expression from Wilbur. She had heard 
that speech becomes regrettably loose in the heat of this 


sport. He sought to reassure her. 


rLELCVU STRATE DO ar FP. R. 


“T never said the least wrong thing,”’ he insisted. “ But 
she did, you bet! Darn and gosh and everything like that, 
and you ought to have heard her once when she missed an 
éasy putt. She said worse than ‘darn!’ She blazed out 
and said 

“Don't tell me!” protested shuddering Winona. She 
wondered if Patricia’s people shouldn't be warned. She 
was now persuaded that golf endangered the morals of the 
young. It had been bad enough when it seemed merely to 
encourage the wearins of nondescript clothes. But if it 
led to language 

Yet she was fated to discover that the world offered 
worse than golf, for Wilbur Cowan had not yet completed, 
in the process of his desultory education, the out-of-doors 
curriculum offered by even the littke world of Newbern. 
Ile was to take up an entirely new study, with the whole- 
hearted enthusiasm that had made him an adept at lino- 
types, gas engines and the sport of kings. Not yet, in 
Winona’s view, had he actually gone down into the depths 
of social obliquity; but she soon knew he had made the 
joyous descent. 

The dreadful secret was revealed when he appeared for 
his supper one evening with a black eye. That is, it would 
have been known technically as a black eye—even Winona 
knew what to call it. Actually it was an eye of many 
colors, shading delicately from pale yellow at the edges 
to richest variegated purple at the center. The eye itself 
it was the right—was all but closed by the gorgeously 
puffed tissue surrounding it, and of no practical use to its 
owner. The still capable left eye, instead of revealing 
concern for this ignominy, gleamed a lively pride in its 
overwhelming completeness. The malign eye was worn 
proudly as a badge of honor, so proudly that the wearer, 
after Winona’s first outery of horror, bubbled vainglori- 
ously of how he had achieved the stigma by stepping into 
one of Spike Brennon’s straight lefts. Nothing less than 
that! 

Winona, conceiving that this talk was meant to describe 
an accident of the most innocent character, demanded 


Think of the Debasing Associations!" 


further details; wishing to be told what a 
straight left was; why a person named Spike 
Brennon kept such things about; and how 
Wilbur had been so careless as to step into one. 
She instinctively pictured a straight left to be 
something like an open door into which the victim had 
stepped in the dark. Her enlightenment was appalling. 
When the boy had zestfully pictured with pantomime of 
the most informing sort she not only knew what a straight 
left was, but she knew that Wilbur Cowan, in stepping 
into one—in placing himself where by any chance he could 
step into one—had flung off the ultimate restraint of 
decency. 

It amounted to nothing less, she gathered, than that her 
charge had formed a sinister alliance with a degraded prize 
fighter, a low bully who for hire and amid the foulest sur- 
roundings pandered to the basest instincts of his fellow 
men by disgusting exhibitions of brute force. As if that 
were not enough, this low creature had fallen lower in the 
social scale, if that were possible, by tending bar in the un- 
speakable den of Pegleg McCarron. It was of no use for 
Wilbur to explain to her that his new hero chose this 
humble avocation because it afforded him leisure for train- 
ing between his fights; that he didn’t drink or smoke, but 
kept himself in good condition; that it was a fine chance 
to learn how to box, because Spike needed sparring part- 
ners. 

“Oh, it’s terrible!” cried Winona. 
like that!” 

“You ought to see him stripped!” rejoined the boy in 
quick pride. 

This closed the interview. Later she refused more than 
a swift glance of dismay at the photograph of the bully 
proudly displayed to her by the recipient. With one eye 
widened in admiration, he thrust it without warning full 
into her gaze, whereupon she had gaspingly fled, not even 
noting the inscription of which the boy was especially 
proud: “To my friend, Mr. Wilbur Cowan, from his 
friend, Eddie—Spike—Brennon, 133 Ibs. ringside.” It 
was a spirited likeness of the hero, though taken some years 
before, when he was in the prime of a ring career now, alas, 
tapering to obscurity. 

, Spike stood with the left shoulder slightly raised, the 
feft foot advanced, the slightly bent left arm with its 


“A debased creature 








clenched fist suggestively extended. His head was slanted 
to bring his chin down and in. The right shoulder was de- 
pressed and the praiseworthy right arm lay in watchful 
repose across his chest. The tense gaze expressed absolute 
singleness of purpose—a hostile purpose. These details 
were lost upon Winona. She had noted only that the 
creature’s costume consisted of the flags of the United 
States and Ireland tastefully combined to form a simple 
loin cloth. Had she raised the boy for this? 


au 


HE deplored intimacy had begun on a morning when 

Wi'bur was early abroad salvaging golf balls from 
certain obscure nooks of the course where Newbern’s 
minor players were too likely to abandon the search for 
them on account of tall grass, snakes, poison ivy and other 
deterrents. Along the course at a brisk trot had come a 
sweatered figure, with cap pulled low, a man of lined and 
battered visage, who seemed to trot with a purpose, and 
yet with a purpose not to be discerned, for none pursued 
him and he appeared to pursue no one. 

He had stopped amiably to chat with the boy. He was 
sweating profusely, and chewed gum. It may be said that 
he was not the proud young Spike Brennon of the photo- 
graph. He was all of twenty-five, and his later years had 
told. Where once had been the bridge of his nose was now 
a sharp indentation. One ear was weirdly enlarged; and 
his mouth, though he spoke through narrowly opened lips, 
glittered in the morning sun with the sheen of purest gold. 
Wilbur Cowan was instantly enmeshed by this new 
personality. 

The runner wished to know what he was looking for. 
Being told golf balls, he demanded ‘‘What for?” It 
seemed never to have occurred to him that there would be 
an object in looking for golf balls. He curiously handled 
and weighed a ball in his brown and hairy hand. 

“So that’s the little joker, is it? I often seen ’em 
knockin’ up flies with it, but I ain’t never been close to 
one. Say, that pill could hurt you if it come right!” 

He was instructed briefly in the capacity of moving balls 
to inflict pain, and more particularly as to their market 
value. As the boy talked the sweating man looked him 
over with shrewd, half-shut eyes. 

“Ever had the gloves on, kid?’’ he demanded at last. 


It appeared in a moment that he meant boxing gloves, 
not gloves in which to play golf. 

“No, sir,” said Wilbur. 

“You look good. Come down to the store at three 
o'clock. Mebbe you can give me a work-out.” 

Quite astonishingly it appeared then that when he said 
the store he was meaning the low saloon of Pegleg McCar- 
ron; that he did road work every morning and wanted 
quick young lads to give him a work-out with the gloves in 
the afternoon, because even dubs was better than shadow 
boxing or just punching the bag all the time. If they 
couldn't box-fight they could wrastle. 

So Wilbur had gone to the store that afternoon, and for 
many succeeding afternoons, to learn the fascinating new 
game in a shed that served Pegleg McCarron as store- 
room. The new hero had here certain paraphernalia of his 
delightful calling—a punching bag, small dumb-bells, a 
skipping rope, boxing gloves. Here the neophyte had been 
taught the niceties of feint and guard and lead, of the right 
cross, the uppercut, the straight left, to duck, to side-step, 
to shift lightly on his feet, to stop protruding his jaw in 
cordial invitation, to keep his stomach covered. He proved 
attentive and willing and quick. He was soon chewing 
gum as Spike Brennon chewed it, and had his hair clipped 
in Brennon manner. He lived his days and his nights in 
dreams of delivering or evading blows. Often while 
dressing of a morning he would stop to punish an invisible 
opponent, doing an elaborate dance the while. It was 
better than linotypes or motor busses. 

In the early days of this new study he had been fearful 
of hurting Spike Brennon. He felt that his blows were too 
powerful, especially that from the right fist when it should 
curve over Spike’s left shoulder to stop on his jaw. But 
he learned that when his glove reached the right place 
Spike’s jaw had for some time not been there. Spike 
scorned his efforts. 

“Stop it, kid! You might as well send me a pitcher post 
card that it’s comin’. You got to hit from where you are— 
you can’t stop to draw back. Use your left more. G’wan 
now, mix it! Mix it!’ 

They would mix it until the boy was panting. Then 
while he sat on a beer keg until he should be in breath 
again the unwinded Spike would skip the rope—a girl’s 
skipping rope—or shadow box about the room with 














THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 19 


intricate dance steps, raining quick blows upon a ghostly 
boxer who was invariably beaten; or with smaller gloves 
he would cause the inflated bag to play lively tunes upon 
the ceiling of its support. After an hour of this, when 
both were sweating, they would go to a sheltered spot 
beyond the shed to play cold water upon each other's 
soaped forms. 

There had been six weeks of this before the boy’s dread 
ful secret was revealed to Winona; six weeks before he 
appeared to startle her with one eye radiating the rich hue 
of a ripened eggplant. It had been simple enough. He 
had seen his chance to step in and punish Spike, and he 
had stepped—and Spike's straight left had been there. 

“You handed yourself that one, kid,"” Spike had said 
applying raw beef to it after their rubdown. 

Wilbur had removed the beef after leaving the store 
He didn’t want the thing to go down too soon. It was an 
honorable mark, wasn't it? Nothing to make the fuss 
about that Winona had made. Of course you had to go to 
Pegleg McCarron’s to do the boxing, but Spike had warned 
him never to drink if he expected to get anywhere in this 
particular trade; not even to smoke. That he had en 
tirely abandoned the use of tobacco at Spike’s command 
should—he considered—have commended his hero to Wi 
nona’s favorable notice. He wore the eye proudly in 
the public gaze; regretted its passing as it began to pale 
into merely rainbow tints. 

But Winona took steps. She was not going to see him 
die, perish morally, without an effort to save him. She 
decided that Sharon Whipple would be the one to consult 
Sharon liked the boy—had taken an interest in him. Per- 
haps words in time from him might avert the calamity, 
especially after her father had refused to be concerned 

“Prize fighting !’’ said the judge scornfully. “ What’'ll he 
be doing next? Never settles down to anything. Jack-of- 
all-trades and good at none.” 

It was no use hoping for help from a man who thought 
fighting was foolish for the boy merely because he would 
not earnestly apply himself to it. 

She went to Sharon Whipple, and Sharon listened even 
more sympathetically than she had hoped he would. He 
seemed genuinely shocked that such things had been secretly 
going on in the life of his young friend. He clicked 

(Continued on Page 68) 














He Had Achieved the Stigma by Stepping Into One of Spike Brennon's Straight Lefts. 


Nothing Less Than That! 








iv 


pODNEY SANDS called Sophie on the telephone 


‘I’m 


glad,"’ Sophie said. “‘And may I come and see 


a* the next evening to say he had got the job 
0 


or 4 


oor he asked “T shall be glad 


you,”” Sophie said primly. But he did 
not come. Sophie had a week in which 
to adjust her ideas of him. He was such 
an utter child, and yet she liked him 
She couldn’t help liking him. He was 
so different from any other human 


being sne had ever known. He was 
fron o different a world She told 
Gertrude all about him during their 


walk up the Palisades Gertrude said 


he was a fool, and probably a liar 


‘I'm sure he was telling the truth,” 
Sophie said He didn’t look as if he 
were lying.”’ 

hat simply means he believes his 
owr ‘ ’ Gertrude observed 

I liked him,”’*Sophie said 


so | aee,”” Gertrude answered 
But Sophie would not quarrel again 


with Gertrude if she could help it She 


did not answer the remar Indeed 
he avoided mentioning Rodney Sand 
to Gertrude Or he watched the 
Evening Transcript for Rodney Sand 

wort There was nothing the first three 
da and then she iw some sketches of 
the cireus at Madison Square Garden 
Sophie thought they were terribly 
clever She hoped he would call up so 


that she could tell him how much she 
liked his drawing 
One evening she found him sitting 
on her front steps when she got home 
from Millman’ He looked infinitely 
dejected. Hi mile was pathetic 
Well,” he said, “I'm fired agai: 
7 W hat for 4 
He drew a crumpled bit of newsprint 
from his pocket and smoothed it out 
“For that 
Sophie saw some drawings of a 
gymkhana at Piping Rock 
Why,” she said, “1 think they're 
good!"’ She laid her finger on a draw 
ing of a woman on horseback, a draw 
ing that employed blacks and white 
n the boldest manner. ‘“ Lookatthat!"’ 
ahe cried ‘That's ie 


She hesitated, searching for an ad 


pective 

That's what did it,” said Rodney 
Sand You will see that the womar 
is not pretty She's ugly—in a really 
interesting way. | wanted todo her the 


moment I saw her.”’ 
‘Il don’t understand,” said Sophie 
‘Don't they know how good it is?” 
‘Oh, they liked it well enough—as a 
drawing. But she happened to be the 
aunt of the man who owns the Tran 
ript, and she didn't like it as a por 
trait of herself not a bit.” 
Didn't you know who she was?” 
Of course | knew who she was 


But I didn’t think she’d mind, and she 
was such a lovely shape I didn’t care 
I thought I'd take a chance The 
make-up man slammed it in in a 
hurry you know how they are on 
afternoon paper and there we were 


They killed it in the next edition. But 
she saw it, and— off with my head.” 
‘You poor hov!"’ 


for him, Sophie could have wept for him. She wished 
sudden that she could feed him. He looked as if he 
needed food 

Have you had your dinner?” she asked. 

No,” said Rodney Sands; “hadn’t thought of it.” 


Let goto dinner together,” sald Sophie, “and be jolly 


and forget all about thi couldn't vou?” 
Could 1? aid Rodney Sand 
Ihe went to Pettipas’ 
I'm hungry Rodney said as the at dow 
eat lunch to-da ‘ 
Forgot!"’ Sophie cried 
H nit his brow 


Mon't believe 1 had any breakfast either,” 
since lunch yesterda) 


“In fact, | don't believe I've eater 


“I forgot 


he 


hay t 


she said. Sophie felt awfully sorry 


added 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


WITH 


By LUCIAN CARY 


BENSON 


ILLUSTRATED BY LESLIE L. 


She Stipped Quietly Through the Gorse and Sat Down 
Beside Him Without Speaking 


“Don’t you know?” Sophie asked. 


Rodney Sands looked at her blankly for a moment, and 
then suddenly they both laughed. 

“| suppose it does seem funny,” he said. 

They went afterward to the Park Theater to hear Pina- 
fore, which was then being revived. Sophie enjoyed it 
whole-heartedly It was one of those things she had 
dreamed of seeing, back in Belleville; but she had never 
quite dared to dream of seeing them with a man like Rod- 
ney Sands. Such things didn't happen. As they made their 
way through the crowd in the lobby of the theater Rodney 
Sands took her arm. He was humming under his breath: 


* Farewell, my own, light of my life, farewell.’’ 


4 





had happened. 


January 1,192! 


WOMEN 


Sophie glanced up at him and smiled. Sophie felt 
that life was good. He insisted on taking an open 
victoria that he saw standing beside the park. “I’m 
just sentimental enough to love this,” he said as he 


sat down beside her and leaned back 
against the cushions. “To roll gently 
down Fifth Avenue of a spring night 
when one hasn’t a care or responsibility 
in the world—I suppose it’s quite com- 
monplace—but I love it.’”’ 

Sophie didn’t think it was common- 
place. Sophie thought it was perfect, 
even if one had cares and responsibili- 
ties. But she did not want to say as 
much. Rodney Sands fell silent. Sophie 
stole a look at him. She could not see 
his expression clearly. Sophie leaned 
back and tried to enjoy the moment. 
Coming out of the theater she had felt 
that they were oldfriends. She was sure 
he had liked her. But now she wondered 
pensively if he did. He must have met 
many women, hundreds of women 
women who were beautiful, women 
who were clever and charming. How 
could she—little Sophie Adams, of 
Belleville—expect to interest him, to 
fathom his moods? Perhaps he was 
bored. 

Sophie felt that she must say some- 
thing. The victoria turned into Thir- 
teenth Street. Sophie saw his face in 
the light of the street lamp. He looked 
utterly remote. 

“T hoped,” she said timidly—“I 
hoped you'd forget all about being fired, 
for one evening.” 

“Oh, that!” he said. 

Sophie felt breathless. She felt as if 
her heart were beating faster than it 
should. So he was bored! 

The victoria crossed Sixth Avenue 
under a roaring elevated train. 

“It’s something much worse,” hesaid. 

Sophie felt her heart pounding—for 
no reason at all. 

“You see, Sophie’’—it was the first 
time he had called her Sophie—‘‘I can 
probably get another job. And even if 
I couldn’t, I could get along somehow. 
I always have. Only now—I've fallen 
in love with you.” 

Sophie bent her head. Sophie had 
never been kissed, or wanted to be— be- 
fore. She waited for his kiss—so that 
she might kiss him. She was too shy to 
say, in so many words, “I love you too.” 
But Rodney Sands did not kiss her. 
He sat beside her without moving or 
speaking. 

The victoria drew up in front of 
Sophie’s flat. Rodney Sands handed 
her out and paid the cabman largely. 
Then he turned back to her and said 
formally, “I have to thank you fora 
lovely evening—the loveliest I’ve ever 
known.” 

He held out his hand and Sophie took 
it. She could not look at him. She re- 
leased his hand. 

“And forgive me,” he begged. “I 
hadn’t any business to say it, of course. 


But don’t be angry. I—I ——” 
“Angry!” Sophie said. “I ——” 


And suddenly she felt she was going 
to weep violently. She turned in panic 


and ran up the steps. She tried to call good night and 
She could only wave her hand. 
“Good night,” said Rodney Sands. 


Vv 


OPHIE cried herself to sleep. It was only when she 
woke in the morning that she was able to analyze what 
It was really very simple. Rodney Sands 
did love her. But he couldn’t ask her to marry him when 
he couldn’t earn a living. If she had only shown by the 
smallest sign that she loved him he would have asked her; 
he would have asked her even if he had just lost his job. 
He would have asked her to wait for him. But she had 
been so sure that he didn’t care. And when he had told her 
that he had fallen in love with her—she just couldn’t for 
the moment believe it. He had taken it for granted she was 

















THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 21 


trying to say she didn’t love him when she was trying to 
say she did! He was almost as shy as she was, really, in 
spite of his insouciant attitude toward life. 

Now Sophie saw, with sudden insight, that his attitude 
wasn’t in the least insouciant. He seemed like a person 
with no sense of responsibility. Gertrude would say he 
couldn’t be trusted. But Gertrude couldn’t understand a 
man like Rodney Sands. The secret was that he had an 
exaggerated notion of what the world expected of a young 
man of twenty-eight, and no notion at all of his own 
capacity. Most young men would be proud to have had 
his success as a cartoonist. But Rodney Sands wasn’t 
proud. Rodney Sands was ashamed. He needed reassur- 
ance. He needed to take himself and his work at a higher 
valuation. He needed someone to guard him and encour 
age him and reward him. In a word, he needed an ap- 
preciative and devoted wife. Alone he might drift into 
vagabondage. He might actually become a tramp. But 
how responsive he had been to Sophie’s suggestion that he 
try fora job! The right girl could save him. 

Sophie had been sincere in thinking that she never 
wanted to marry. The examples of marriage she had known 
had failed to inspire her. Her father and mother hadn't 
been unhappy. But her father had been one of those 
exceptional men who seem to fail by their good qualities 
rather than by their bad. He had been a country lawyer, 
always on the verge of poverty. Everybody liked him, and 
nobody trusted him to wring the last dollar from a delin- 
quent debtor. He was a Democrat in a Republican com- 
munity. And though on three different occasions he had 
defended men charged with murder and proved them inno- 
cent in the face of the most overwhelming circumstantial 
evidence, only one of these had ever paid him a fee. 

Sophie’s mother had been one of those patient women 
who take it for granted that their husbands will attain no 
great success in life. She had been devoted to Sophie’ 
father, but she had never helped him to find himself. She 
didn't know how 

But it is more than possible that Sophie had acquired 
very early, or earlier than most girls, the idea that a 
woman could help a man as his wife, if only, like her 
father, he were worth helping in the first place. She had 
looked with rather a scornful eye on the young men of 
Belleville. None of them met that essential condition 
None of them was half as much of a person as her father 
had been—or ever would be. 





The chance to go to New York, to be head of a depart- 
ment at Millman’s, with its immense appeal to her ambi- 
tion, had come at a time when she had adjusted herself to 
the idea of living all her life in Belleville, of being an old 
maid. Sophie had quite definitely pictured herself as grow- 
ing steadily more competent as a librarian, as becoming 
each year a little more industrious and a little grimmer, 
like Miss Mimms, the principal of the Belleville High 
School. She would fight hard to get larger and larger 
appropriations for books In twenty years she would 
make the Belleville Public Library the kind of public 
library a self-respecting community ought to have. Such 
a life would not, she knew, satisfy her girlish dreams 
There would be no adventure in it, but at least it would 
be useful 

It was precisely the adventure of going to New York, 
of taking a job for which she had neither the training nor 
the experience, that captured her. It didn’t occur to her 
that New York might offer the great adventure—the 
adventure of falling in love. She had gone to Millman’s as 
hundreds of young men go every year from small towns 
all over the United States to New York—frightened of 
the metropolis, but with that intense will to succeed that 
carries so many of them on 

Sophie had thrown her whole self into her job. And Ger 
trude Fuller had stood by her during the critical months 
when for all her intelligence and all her energy she was in 
hourly danger of failure simply because she didn’t know 
the ways of a great department store Gertrude was a 
thoroughly trained expert, and, what was more, she could 
tell what she knew. She could answer Sophie's questions 
surely and completely. To have Gertrude’s help was for 
Sophie like having a reference library covering the details 
of Millman’s business and the personalities of Millman’s 
organization, a library in which the necessary information 
was available instantly, without even hunting through a 
card catalogue 

Sophie had grown to admire Gertrude intensely. And as 
they became more intimate Sophie had gradually absorbed 
Gertrude’s philosophy—the philosophy by which the 
business woman of the period glorifies a life in whic 
neither men nor children enter. It regarded husbands as 
the only serious obstacles in the careers of women 

The hardest thing that Gertrude could say about a 
former colleague was, “She had ability, but she fell for 
a man, and of course that was the end of her.” 


In her lighter moments Gertrude amused herself by con 
structing epigrams, graceless but crudely forceful, such a 
“Marriage is the cemetery of hope.” To Gertrude the 
tragedy of modern life was embodied in the spectacle of a 
woman washing dishes and cooking food and mending 
clothes for her husband and children. If the woman was 
happy —why, that gave the tragedy its final bitterness 

“Don’t you see?” she would ask with her fierce eager 
ness. ‘That woman has given up everything life has to 
offer —and she doesn’t even know it! 

Sophie had in the main accepted Gertrude’s version of 
marriage. In the abstract, marriage had meant giving up 
everything that life had so far offered Sophie. But Rod 
ney Sands 

His helplessness made an irresistible appeal to her. She 
ached to give his life meaning and direction, to ¢« i 
that was fine in him. If she could make him happy and se¢ 
his talent grow splendid with the years! But that was a 
dream; the business was immediate. She must come dow: 
to the plain facts. The first fact was that she had a job 
and the second fact was that he hadn't a job 

That afternoon Sophie went to see the manager of Mill 
man’s. Sophie was no longer afraid of Mr. Blodgett. She 
knew he valued her work, and she approached him with 
confidence 

“ How’ everything in the book department Mi 
Adams?”’ he asked 

It was his invariable question, and Sophie paused on! 
to give it a formal answer. Mr. Blodgett knew that every 
thing was well with the book department. He had cor 
gratulated Sophie on her management of it within th 
last week 

‘I came to ask you a hypothetical question, Mr. Blod 
gett,”’ she said 

“Yes?” said Mr. Blodgett 

He leaned back in his chair and put his har 
the finger tips touching, and smiled 
suddenly realized that when Mr. Blodgett heard the ques 
tion she was about to ask he would not regard it as hypo 


together 


sophie Sophie 


thetical. He would regard it as an announcement. But 
that couldn’t be helped. She had to know the answer 
‘I want to know,” said Sophie, “if Millman’s would 


consider marriage a disqualification for my job?” 


Mr Blodgett smiled broadly Sophie sat a little tense 
She hoped Mr. Blodgett wouldn't ask for any of the detail 


Continued on Page 80 


‘79m Still a Little Sore Because I Wasn't Born to be Another Et Greco" 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


THE SATURDAY 
EVENING POST 


FOUNDED A°‘D' 1728 


PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY 
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PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY 1, 1921 


Poison Ivy Promotions 


ART and parcel of the general! thrift movement that 
eos into full stride during the Liberty Bond drives is 
an auxiliary campaign that has for its object the extermi- 
nation of the financial cooties that fatten on small and 
gullible investors. 

As it is the way of human vanity to boast of gains and 
conceal losses, it is hard to arrive at exactefigures, but it 
seems likely that the operations of fraudulent stock pro- 
moters are costing the country not less than a quarter of a 
billion dollars a year. At a time when well-established 
industries and mercantile houses of the highest credit have 
to pay eight per cent for working capital such losses are 
doubly galling. They not only deprive honest business of 
sorely needed funds but they discourage thrift and pro- 
mote extravagance, for the wiping out of savings put into 
worthless securities makes frugality and self-denial seem 
vain and futile. The future urge is to spend and enjoy 
rather than to pinch and lose. 

There is scarcely a state in the Union in which serious 
is not 


thought being given to the protection of small 


investors. The measures commonly adopted are of two 


sorts—repressive and educational. The former, which 
finds expression in blue-sky legislation, is aimed directly 
at fraudulent promoters. The latter seeks to spread such 
convincing warnings and to instill such sound financial 
instruction into potential victims as to make them too 
wary to succumb to the blandishments of high-voltage 
stock salesmen. 

Blue-sky laws are comparable to an attempt to root out, 
keep out and prohibit financial poison ivy. Educational 
publicity methods aim to teach the simple to know the 
noxious plant by sight as far as they can see it, so that no 
matter how much of it may be about, it will be recognized 
and shunned. It is most unlikely, however, that any pro- 
tective systems the human brain can devise can be so 
effetive as to keep every fool and his money in the same 
suit of clothes 

In the meantime some really constructive work is being 
done along these lines, and well-considered educational 
methods are being tried out. The Better Business Com- 
mission of the Cleveland Advertising Club appears to 
have made a significant contribution to the practical tech- 
nic of dealing with the stock-swindling evil. This organiza- 
tion, though heartily approving the familiar injunction to 


investors to seek the advice of their bankers or brokers 


before buying stocks or bonds, pointed out the fact that 
this counsel is far too narrow in its practical application, 
for those who most need such warnings have no banker; 
neither have they a broker; and natural shyness usually 
prevents them from entering the offices where the stock- 
wise and bond-wise do business. 

Having arrived at this sound conclusion, the Better 
Business Commission determined to begin protecting the 
pay envelope at its source, and to that end it appointed as 
its representatives executives who were employed in the 
various industrial plants throughout the city. It was the 
business of these men, with the assistance of the commis- 
sion’s experts, to act as financial advisers to the employees 
of their respective plants. This service was brought directly 
to lathe and drill press, and it had the unusual merit of 
being rendered by men who were personally known to 
those who sought their counsel. These key men, through 
the commission, made it their business to analyze and 
report upon any security offered by stock salesmen to 
fellow employees. 

The commission’s advisers built their educational super- 

tructure upon the basic principle: Before you invest, 
investigate. They stressed the idea that investigation 
does not mean passive absorption of the tales of slick sales- 
men who have memorized their patter word for word from 
the boss’ lesson sheets. They require salesmen to answer 
in writing fifteen or twenty printed questions of the most 
searching character for the inspection of the commission’s 
analysts. Many a salesman had the surprise of his life 
when the official question blank was thrust in his face and 
he was invited to reply in writing, over his own signature, 
to a long list of embarrassing inquiries. Simple, snappy 
lessons in security buying, inclosed in pay envelopes, and 
posters prominently displayed, helped the good work 
along. A lively and growing interest in sound investment 
stocks approved by the experts of the commission was only 
one of the gratifying results of the campaign. 

It seems reasonable to believe that the plan that worked 
so well in Cleveland might succeed in other industrial 
centers; but no forethought, no education, no protective 
legislation can utterly eliminate loss of savings. The pru- 
dent desire for safety of principal must continually fight 
its reckless twin who loves to take a chance, who feels the 
ancient urge to play the long shot. 


When Knighthood Was in Flower 


HERE are persons who exert themselves in the conflict 
to get money and, being defeated or being awarded a 


prize not in keeping with their expectations, ease their 
hurts by scolding about the rules, and reflect sadly that 
this is a commercial and heartless age. 

Others, blessed with fortune but addicted to dreaming, 
reach a similar conclusion by casual study of an earlier age 
glorified by poets and novelists—an age in which there was 
nothing of the sordid desire for money, but only prancing 
horses, the swish of silk, side arms, duels and affairs of the 
heart. 

There has not been an age innocent of greed. There was 
once an age in which the characters who held the center of 
the stage did not soil their hands or tire their wits to get 
money. A hard system, devised by themselves, gave them 
a living at the expense of less fortunate men. They wore 
fine clothes and lived in fire houses, owned good horses 
and followed good hounds, and danced and gamed through- 
out their days. 

But then, as now, production required sweat, and many 
men toiled many hours to earn the wealth that a satin-clad 
dandy lost in an evening's play. The class that provided 
the atmosphere of romance was a class of loafers—a class 
of prodigal consumers utterly worthless in the business of 
production. 

This sordid commercial age is an age of service. The 
rich man does not loll at ease while serfs follow plows to 
If he loafs on the job a competitor takes 
the field and he wakes in the morning to discover that 


earn his bread. 


his wealth has been annexed by a more worthy servant. 
He does not take without giving. He could not if he 
would. He serves, and the world gives him the reward 
that is his due. 


January 1,192! 


When one builds a factory and manufactures shoes, 
striving always to make a better shoe at a lower price in 
order to win patronage from his competitors, he is ani- 
mated by the commercial spirit that characterizes the age. 
He is looking out for the first person singular, but sound 
business sense convinces him that he best serves himself by 
serving the public better. In the effort to make good he does 
good. In an earlier age the same spirit of selfishness would 
have led him headlong into the merry game of spending, 
with never a thought for the morrow and never a desire to 
serve. 

The milling thousands on city streets, the artisans in 
factories, the men in field and forest—all are bending their 
energies to get more money in order that they may buy 
more comforts and more pleasures for themselves and for 
their families. This is the commercial spirit. Is it sordid? 

The romantic age produced glittering ornaments, but it 
took toll of the race by keeping its workers on a level with 
the ox to pay for the glitter. The commercial age may show 
a sad lack of technic in the art of staging a frolic, but it 
shows a wholesome appreciation of the fact that a dollar 
If the desire to do 
more and better work than the other fellow can do in order 


belongs to the man who can earn it. 


to earn more money than he is earning constitutes sordid 
commercialism, the world can survive a long siege of it. 
Indeed humanity might with profit teach this sordid thing 
in the schools and endeavor to make it universal. 


Getting and Giving 


HERE are more fixed charges and moral liens on the 
f ipso long-established fortune than there are barna- 
cles on the bottom of an ancient hulk. No right-thinking 
young man who comes into a large patrimony cares to cut 
off his father’s old pensioners or to discontinue his regular 
subscriptions to the score of charities that for a generation 
or more his family has helped to support. He will recog- 
nize these claims as the just obligations of wealth, and he 
will try to honor them as a voluntary tax upon his pros- 
perity, or as a thank offering for his abundance. 

One of the far-reaching effects of the World War is that 
thousands of rich men have become poor and tens of thou- 
sands of poor men have become rich. While these shifts of 
fortune were taking place, other war-born forces were let 
loose which afflicted virtually-all Europe with more misery 
of every conceivable sort than it has had to bear at any 
time since the Dark Ages; and even in those eras of oppres- 
sion, famine and pestilence no such vast populations were 
affected as are to-day plunged in woe and wretchedness. 

At the same time, organized charity, the established 
machinery for relieving public distress, has had to face 
vastly increased expenses; for the high cost of charity is 
part and parcel of the high cost of living. More service, at 
increased cost, means greatly multiplied outlay; but the 
most vital demand for funds comes at a time when the 
habitual supporters of organized charity are least able to 
respond to it. Thousands of old fortunes have dwindled. 
Basic conditions have sapped the principal, and the 
butcher, the baker and the taxgatherer have taken the 
interest. It is a logical consequence that the trustees of 
nearly every charitable institution in the land are at their 
wits’ end to know how to keep going. 

Speaking by and large, the old rich are, for the time 
being, down and out and the new rich have not stepped 
into the breach. 

American charities, therefore, are at a critical pass. The 
habitually benevolent men and women who have been 
their mainstay have become impoverished. Many of them 
are not only unable to increase their subscriptions propor- 
tionably to rising costs but find it impossible to con- 
tribute more than a third or a fourth of what they gave 
in former years. The owners of young fortunes will some 
day learn the divine lesson that it is more blessed to give 
than to receive; but what may not happen to humanity 
in the meantime! 

The holiday season is a fitting time to think of such mat- 
ters; and the first days of a new year may, in the long run, 
be just as profitably employed in planning for more liberal 
and self-denying giving a3 for more intensive and effective 
getting. 

















—— = = 








LVARO OBREGON in the character of a statesman 
may aptly be described as the incarnation of a 
moral force directed by a discerning but imperfectly 

informed intelligence to a politico-social purpose which is 
higher far than any merely national aim; for he is wont 
to visualize his country as an organ of humanity intrusted 
with certain functions which it has hitherto failed to per- 
form, and one of his foremost aims is to link its destinies 
with those of the progressive section of the human race. 
During his own remarkable evolution his personality so 
grew and expanded in rhythm with the march of national 
and even world events that to-day, in his own country, he 
is considerably before his time, and among his own people 
he is in some respects a superman. 

The president of the Mexican Republic never yearned 
nor prepared for a political any more than for a military 
career. Indeed he always regarded and still regards pro- 
fessional polities and diplomacy with unalloyed disgust. 
He once said to me: 

“Ever since events forced me to inquire into the political 
causes of our lamentable situation and to compare our 
recent past with that of such foreign states as I know any- 
thing about, I have felt strongly that the first step which 
Mexico must take in order to recover lost ground and get 
into line with cultural nations is to substitute morality for 
politics and diplomacy. Politics, together with its insep- 
arable adjuncts, inordinate ambitions, turgid rhetoric, 
delusive promises and insidious intrigues, has wrought 


Wenooncs SECURITIES (| 
TH g PROFITEERS - 


t | INC. 








—— 


ee 








havoc among many peoples, and nowhere more thoroughly 
than among our own. It is our interest and our duty, 
therefore, to emancipate ourselves from its yoke, now that 
fortune has given us the opportunity.” 

Obreg6n received a proposal to enter parliament and 
devote himself to politics soon after he had taken up arms 
against the fomenters of civil war; but he rejected it. 

“Tt is not by laws which are not enforced nor by talk 
which stands for no constructive ideas,” he said, “‘that the 
evils which crush our people can be remedied. Some laws 
foment crime in lieu of suppressing it. We must put the 
ax to the roots, and these lie in the region of the ethical.” 

His first initiation into practical politics took place when 
his former military chief, Victoriano Huerta, kicked over 
the traces and arrested President Madero. Obregén was 
then, as we saw, a fairly well-to-do farmer who had there- 
tofore had no inclination to forsake his avocation for a life 
of adventure, political or military. But he ‘elt intensely 
that he must lend a hand at all costs in putting an end to 
the long sequence of disorders which rendered life in the 
republic a burden. 

“T felt irresistibly impelled to go,” he told me, “and I 
paid no heed to the possible consequences of my resolve 
either to myself or to my kindred.” 

To admit that during his military career, which thus 
opened as a moral call, he sometimes wandered beyond the 
bounds of ethics is not to disparage the inspiration or 


response it evoked, but merely to record the fact that in 





SATURDAY EVENING POST 23 


EGON? 
By Dr. E. J. Diillllom 





the heat of the struggle he, like most war leaders, subordi 
nated to the exigencies of the campaign many considera 
tions which claim and deserve profound respect. But 
unlike most generals in Mexico and abroad, he frankly 
confesses that war, unless imposed by self-defense, is 
essentially immoral. Only by quibbles and fallacies, 
therefore, can the excesses committed during that long 
drawn-out struggle be glozed over or extenuated. They 
stand on record, must be included in the general account 
and entered on the debit side of their author 

Obrggén’s next confrontation with political issues took 
place in the year 1914, and it disillusioned him painfully. 
At that time the schism in the militant revolutionary party 
which subsequently well-nigh ruined the republic was 
beginning to take shape in the mind of Villa. This general 
had already made several attempts to win over Obregén, 
get him to play for his own hand and leave Carranza to his 
own resources. But he failed utterly. Obregén was not to 
be seduced from allegiance to the cause which he set above 
personal interests, and he firmly believed that Carranza 
was to the full as devoted and unselfish as himself. Accord- 
ingly he sought to reconcile Villa with Carranza and to 
effect the consolidation of the party by every legitimate 
means available. One of these necessarily took the shape 
of a concession to Villa, who hated and distrusted Car- 
ranza and was ready to make any sacrifice, even that of 
his country, to oust him from power 


(Continued on Page 34) 





~ DIWORCE 


~ 
} 
; 
| 
; 


DAUGHTER =| Son 


DECREE -° 


~~ 











Blood Will Tell 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


v 


January /, 192i 


By CORRA HARRIS 


rFELUSTRATE DO 


a8 YF ERNEST F UHR 





N. THE 


ng whet! 


Peter went put 


» meet qorrye er 
iwement 
came 


tthe 


ety 


mfortable ! 
er your elder 
ehildren have 
ifter they have 
itgrown the 
ving feather ol 
yur nearer love 
ind care So on 
the night when he 
had gone to pa 
that mysteriou 
call | made a sort 
f maternal illu 
mination of my 
waiting wakefu 
ness by turning or 
the light ! 
the parlor sul 
when he came ir 
it eleven o'cloct 
he paused at the 
oni 


open door 


ong enoug! to 
* Still 
mother?’’ 
went directly 
nl room 
It is only when 
au wife or a maid 
to be ce 
by a lover 
hat any man can 
deceive a womar 
it all. They are 
ingularly appar 
ent to the search 
hg 


ng feminine eve 


If one of them 





“Mrs. Sangster 
told me,”’shewent 
on, “in strictest 
confidence. She 
is very mucl 
upset, poor thing 
and had to tel 
somebody. I did 
not intend tc 
mention it, but I 
was in to see the 
Sangsters last 
night. Isobel is 
not conducting 
herself as a mar- 
ried woman 
should.” 

There was a lit- 
tle silence such as 
women use when 
they mean more 
than it is prudent 
to say. The one 
thought I held 
was that Peter 
had been out the 
evening before, 
and it was not 
prayer-meeting 
night. 

Mrs. Buckhart 
had risen to take 
her leave before I 
could gather my 
wits. 

“Do you know 
what is going to 
happen?”’ she de- 
manded. 

I implied that 
I did not, without 
saying so. 

“Well, for the 
next ten years 
these marriages 
for the duration 
of the war are 
going to split the 
morals of this 





me 





doing 
legal 
believe Is 


Knows he Is 


what his 


right and proper he is the most 


but lacking that approval he be 


womankind 
andid of all creatures, 
comes the most evasive and secret. It is the one universal 
form of masculine cowardice, which goes under the pro 
himself of not wishing to 
is not your business but his own 

This is why 


conscience’ 


fession every man makes to 


disturb you about what 
private personal busine anxious elderly 
obliged for sake to 


the inalienable rights of their 


mothers are frequently 


watch and meddle wit} 


bachelor sons 
And as I have 
too particular if your son i 

Peter had passed the youthful period of celibacy when a 
oung man instinctively guards his liberty and rarely 
marries without being overhauled by the strength of his 
emotions, and he had reached the stage when a bachelor 
ometimes faces about and makes up his mind deliber 
ately to take a 1 thought something like that was 
going on. And I feared even more that some lady-doll 
aint in Peter's church might be arranging for an innocent 
flirtation with her I hoped the Lord would lead 
me in the matter, and I made up my mind to be led on 
the slightest provocation 

It is the little things out of which jokes on the funny 
page of a Sunday newspaper are made that are frequently 
the most serious things in the actual experience of living 
A cartoonist might have found excellent material for such 
aricaturing in our home during the next few days. Peter 
himself; he was his other self, reserved but 
ecretly animated. I was not myself either. I felt like an 
old gray-haired key that could not turn in the lock of the 
Peter said I was not looking 
well and suggested that I should go to a quiet place in the 
country for a good long rest. I told him that I preferred 
to stay ind look after him 

“It will be time enough, Peter,”’ I added, “for me to get 
thatrest when you marry some good Christian woman who 
can take care of you.” 

This description of his future wife seemed to widen the 
His relations to me took on the ele- 


of filial diplomacy 


aid many times before, you cannot be 
also a preacher 


wile 


pastor 


not 


was 


ounger, dearer life of my son 


right there 


breach between us 
gance 


“Married! Pid You Say She is Married?" I 


Exctaimed. “‘No; I Said She Was Married" 


I always answer the phone to save him from that class of 
people who use it as a highwayman does his gun, to hold 
up a busy man or a tired one and rob him of his time or his 
rest. But now when the phone rang I could never get to it 
before he was already there. If he was in the midst of 
preparation for his Sabbath service he could hear it if the 
thing barely clicked, and he would be out of his study like 
a shot. Sometime during the evening he invariably re- 
ceived the call he expected, if he was not out calling in 
person 

One day Mrs. Buckhart came in from Drumhead. She 
talked for an hour, but I knew that she had not said the 
thing she came to tell. She had the morally inflated look a 
maliciously good woman has when her mind is full of 
something which is not good. 

“ Did you see the announcement in the paper this morn- 
ing Isobel Sangster?”’ she asked casually as she 
was going 

I had not seen it, I told her; but suddenly I realized that 
this was something I had been expecting for a week. 

“She had an interview about her work in France. I 
can't think how she dared to do it,” she went on 

“Why?” I asked 

“Well, she was in France only a short time, when she 
first went over. She has been in London for a year. She 
was married there.” 

“Married! Did you say she is married?” I exclaimed. 

“No; I said she was married, to Captain Gleate, a 
British army officer. That is what I mean. She is back 
here representing herself still as Isobel Sangster.’ 

“Where is her husband?” I asked, trying not to show 
what was going on in my mind 

“He has left her. That is why she came home. She 
cannot find anything of her husband but his lawyer. And 
this lawyer has cut off her allowance, according to instruc- 
tions he received from the invisible Captain Gleate, on 
account of Isobel’s doubtful conduct.” 

She took out her handkerchief and patted her powdered 
face, which was perspiring. 


about 


country. These 
pro tem brides 
will be popping up, and these modern Enoch Arden hus- 
bands will be drifting in from the ends of the earth to press 
their haggard faces against the windows of innocent peo- 
ple’s domesticity.” 

She went down the steps to the street, waving her hand 
at my parlor window, which was very suggestive. 

That night when the phone rang I was sitting before it 
with the recetver to my ear when Peter came down the hall 
from his study. 

“That must be for me, mother; I will answer,” he said. 

“No; this call is for me, my son, and I am answering. 
It will take only a minute,” I said in an aside to him. 

“Yes,”’ I went on over the phone, “this is Main two- 
six-seven. Yes, he is here.’’ I heard Peter make a quick 
step forward. “This is Mrs. Thompson speaking. Can I 
take the message? No, not unless you give your 
name. Yes, I remember you when you were Miss 
Sangster. I only heard of your marriage this morning, 
Mrs. Gleate. I am sure my son does not know of it at all. 
I will tell him who is calling. Hold the line please. . . . 
No? Very well then. Good night.” 

I hung up the receiver and looked at Peter. 

“T had to do it, my son. You will forgive me pres- 
ently,” I said. 

Then I told him what I had heard. 

“And you see she does not deny it!’’ I added. 

He was pale, no doubt with anger. A man can be as 
mad with the woman who saves him from making a fool 
of himself as he is with the other one, who is ready toe 
betray him. 

I had the guilty feeling of having done my duty as I 
watched Peter, who had not said a word, walk back up the 
hall to his study and close the door. 

This affair was never mentioned between us again. But 
I often wondered who was responsible for the announce- 
ment of the Sangster girl’s marriage, which appeared in 
the afternoon paper the next day, but not among the social 
news items. It was as scathingly brief as a warning, and 
headed that column in the advertising page which con- 
tains “‘ Notices to the Public.” 

(Centinued on Page 26 











ew Soe or: ogee et a : 
grates 4 =e Se et ‘* - a a Fi ty 
oS SS eee oS ee <= . == ak tt 


eo ee 


** New Year new cheer 
Good tidings far and near 
*Good soup good health’ 
So rings the message clear” 


“It rings true!” 


A simple and matter-of-fact message — 
this Campbell’s New Year greeting—but it is 
plain truth and founded on the clear gospel of 
health. 

‘Eat good soup every day in the year.” 
The bells cannot ring a message of more 
practical value to you. 

Your entire well-being, both bodily and 
mental, depends on health. And _ health 
depends mainly on good digestion. 

You not only find more enjoyment and 
zest in a meal that begins with Campbell's 
Tomato Soup but the entire meal is more 
easily digested and more beneficial. 

Made from one of nature’s most tempting 
and wholesome products this delicious soup 
should bring added delight to your home table 
all through the year. 


21 kinds 15c a can 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 













_ 
» 


A OT ES 


SS a kn a 





TOMAT 


U 
%OUP. 


J NY rf 
OSEPH GAMPBELI GOMP A 


CAMDEN. N 
ae 











THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


(Continued from Page 24 


I do not say that the women sent to France during the 


ora great ser most of them rendered wit} 
hould not have married 
; that so small a number 


you consider how easy it must 


ler the circumstances to choose a husband 
k the last one of them who came home should 

required to stand a civil-service examination as 

her matrimonial qualifications before being allowed to 
And if the military authorities had 
a roster of the men who married abroad this 
revented confusion In that 

who took a brief course in French 

ild not have married so glibly when they 


the yuntry 


much case 


oldiers 


William and I had in the itinerancy were 
We could 
poverty.” Or 


ird times 
They were intelligible and personal to us 
“This is 
sent to a poor appointment when he deserved 
worst thing that ever happened to us 
a revival and preached and prayed in 
iders would not be reclaimed and sin 
would not confe He passed through a 
od of depre ion at such times, but he invariably came 

of it strengthened in his faith 

If things looked bad for us he 


ir fingers on it and say 
im Wa 
one The 
held 


. because back 


better 


as when he 


and believe 


Sometimes we had a panic or a presi- 
but we were so safely and scripturally 


or misfortune 
dential election 
poor that financial osc.iations of securities and bonds in 
the markets did not affect us or the people whom we served. 
My national sense of things was very vague, and the only 
international sense I had was strictly missionary and had 
to do with the heathen for whom we prayed and took up 
collections without ceasing. If you think in the lateral 
terms of this present world, such an existence was narrow; 
but if you are accustomed to think in the terms of faith, it 
was high. There was all the length and breadth of the 
spaces between the stars in our thoughts. 

I seemed now to have passed entirely out of that exist- 
ence. I heard so much bad news and saw so much that 
was not good that I could not keep my thoughts fixed on 
things above. Sometimes I used to go about attending to 
my household duties and saying over to myself, “‘ For the 
kingdom of heaven is within you!”’ But it was not there. 
I had lost that sublime effulgence of faith. I began to 
tremble in my earthly shoes. For the first time in my life 
I was mightily concerned for just the carnal safety of 
mankind. No matter how earnestly you may desire to fix 
your thoughts upon higher things, it distracts your atten- 
tion to see all the familiar landmarks of your merely human 
existence flying round like feathers in a tempest. 


January 1,192! 


seemed to have forgotten the nation. They engaged in a 
free-for-all fight, apparently on the peace treaty, but really 
it was a political wrestling match in the interest of their 
own affairs. 

I have sometimes wondered that the worst shrinkage in 
the securities of this nation has not occurred in the char- 
acter, honor or judgment of her statesmen. William 
always said that a man who cared more about the doc- 
trines that distinguished his denomination from another 
than he did about the salvation of souls was a sort of mean 
Christian, if he was a Christian at all. And it does seem to 
me that our leading statesmen care more for the fortunes 
of the political parties they represent than they do for the 
safety of this country. 

I suffered spiritually for the first time in my life from the 
miasma of political news. I was very uneasy about my 
country; no less because now at last it seemed highly 
probable that women would obtain the ballot. I am not a 
parading suffragist, but I have always been one for con- 
science’ sake. There is no possible doubt that women can 
clean up this country and make it safer for men as well as 
women and children to live in. But the question is whether 
they will do it, or add confusion worse confounded to that 
which we already have. They are born politicians. They 
practiced politics long before men practiced anything but 

brute force to obtain their rights. 
They have been obliged always to 





would remind me of that Scripture 

hich says the kingdom of heaven 
4 thin vou He derived 
comfort from this 


hi native countr round 


great 
idea of carrying 
with 
ife from the 


him, removed and 


trials and vicissitudes of our mortal 
existence 
Sitting here in this fine city par 


onage with nothing much in reas 
of me to do in the Lord’ 


about me un 


sname, but 
with all the world 
ttled and di 
and 
Car of UB AS WE 


turbed by bitterness 


violence strange doctrines, | 
were then and a 
the world was then, comparatively 
afe and peaceful, two tired travel 
ers on the road somewhere between 
William's dingy 
and with very little serip ir 
but having still the 
of heaven within us 


ehure hes, and 
dusty 
uur pocket 
kingdon 

The tears will come when I thin! 
f them now, those plain sweet 
day | remember little stretches 
of the road where the shadows lay 
cool as blessings in the hot summer 
day I can recall the sheep pas 
tured behind Redwine church, and 
that will 
tumbled gravestones of 


the lamb strayed at 
among the 
the churchyard. I can see the face 
of so many men and women whom 
then, and the 
thought of them, either as the ol« 
children of God or the di 
obedient but always 
me of them, his children 


we knew way we 
lient 
ever) 
And all 
the time I am really looking down 
iy street, filled with the 
tir and bustle of traffic 
the hurrying feet of men who seem 


ones, 


mon this city 


and with 


o far removed from being obedient 
or even disobedient to God 

I have said my prayers and tried 
to do my duty, but I shall never be 
wain as good a woman as 1 was 
then, keeping up with William wher 
he ascended his 


mountains, com 





resort to persuasion and policies to 
get what they wanted even in the 
small one-woman relation to one 
man. Now that they have won the 
opportunity to exercise these well- 
developed gifts in national affairs 
nobody knows what will happen. 
My own suspicion is that the great 
majority of them will not exercise 
it at all, but they will still devote 
themselves to getting elected to 
and by the one man, for the same 
old office of love and sacrifice which 
they have always held. But the 
thing that troubles me is this: So 
far, men, rightly or wrongly, have 
borne the chief reputation for guilt 
in the world. They have done the 
cheating and swindling in the pub- 
lic eye while the petty pilferings 
of vain women, who are mere orna- 
ments, have been concealed good- 
naturedly by their mankind. The 
men have shared their sex’s repu- 
tation for not being moral with a 
grin of secret satisfaction even when 
they were quite moral. They have 
conducted the business and elec- 
tions of this nation with successful 
unscrupulousness or any other way 
they pleased. And it is hard to em- 
barrass them about their deeds done 
in the body. They take a maraud- 
ing satisfaction in these bodies. 
But now the woman citizen will! 
be subject to all the rigors of ad- 
verse publicity. What women 
really are in secret will be known 
in the open for the first time since 
their gender and gentleness made 
them sacred to just men. They 
will not be sacred. Maybe they 
are not entirely so, anyway, but it 
is sometimes more dangerous to 
destroy an illusion than a civiliza- 
tion. What would happen to us if 
we suddenly discovered that men 
really are not brave? It would be 
a terrific loss. What will happen if 


for 


bc 


ee 








forting him when he passed through 
valley of defeat, 

f that kingdom of heaven within him, not worrying be 
I had no sucl deep personal sense of it 
end of hi memory failed 
strength, he to forget himself and 
this text to the 
Even if he promised me to preach some 


always sure 
cause myself 
Toward the 


ong with hi 


ministry, when his 


used 
preach twice in succession from same 

mngregation 
other sermon and actually did start off the next Sunday 
with a different text he would invariably return to his 
kingdom of heaven geography and devote the remainder 
f his discourse to telling off the blessings of this fair 
country. It was net until his memory failed and he could 
not find his thoughts on this subject that his faith failed 
and he took up with Job in the Scriptures 

During all these years there were no world problems in 
our lives, only those connected with life in the world to 
I formed the habit of sharing William’s anxiety 
If the morals of a community 
The 


futility of changing men’s lives by any other means never 


come 
about the saving of souls 
were not good he preached repentance and faith. 


oceurred to him. The mind we had was far beyond fortune 


Now All et Once as I Sat There Before My Desk 
I Fett That Same Singing Power of Words 


I continued to read my Bible and the Christian Advo- 
cate, both of which seemed to give foreign news of a world 
that had passed out of sight; but I also read the secular 
papers, those daily serials of our civilization. And they 
read like so many chapters of a doubtful dime novel. 
Nothing good seemed to be going on in the world. We had 
spent more money for war expenses than there was in the 
world. One kind of ruin or another stared us in the face 
every morning in the headlines of these papers. The cost 
of living continued to rise. And labor was still running 
round like a chicken with its head off, increasing capital by 
every kind of thriftless extravagance, and fighting capital 
at the same time with a sort of senseless malignancy. 
That inner law which binds men to God and a good con- 
science was laid aside, and the whole nation waited for 
Congress to pass other laws, which would protect us 
against ourselves and our neighbors and especially the prof- 


iteers. But the two great political parties at Washington 


women are dismantled and picked 
to pieces in the shambles of politi- 
cal life? Even if they do not deserve it this will happen 
Besides, somebody must be meek and long-suffering. Wit 
all their follies and vanities and limitations it has been the 
women who have always practiced this negative but essen- 
tial virtue. I may be mistaken, but it seemed to me that 
the very rumor of suffrage has upset the dependable pa- 
tience of my sex. A few years ago the women belonging to 
the missionary societies in our church owned and admin- 
istered some millions of dollars’ worth of property and 
funds. At a certain General Conference they allowed the 
bishops to take it away from them without a murmur. 
Quite recently these same women have stewed and stirred 
things until they have obtained, in spite of these bishops, a 
kind of suffrage in church affairs under the name of “laity 
rights.” I mention this instance not to condemn it but to 
indicate that the bonds which formerly held women no 
longer bind them anywhere. 

It is not the growth of the divorce evil in this country 
that is so significant now as the kind of women who are 

(Continued on Page 28) 





CN TA et 


—— 


sae 





ak ae 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 








Constancy—the Greatest Quality 
of a Great Car 


There is one thought in the minds of people 
the world over which is responsible for the 
intense admiration they accord the Cadillac. 


They may express that admiration in a 
thousand different ways, every day, but the 
basic and underlying thought is ever and 
always the same. 


That thought was uppermost in the minds 
of the military and motor experts of the old 
world, who marvelled at the achievements 
of the Cadillac on the battle fronts of France. 


It was the deciding factor in the choice of 
the Cadillac as the official car of the United 
Otates army. 


Consciously, or otherwise, it isthe motivating 
influence in the purchase of every Cadillac 
that is sold in any and every part of the world. 


People are influenced, to be sure, by the 
beauty of the Cadillac, by its recognized social 
standing, by the beautiful steadiness of its flow 
of power, by its exquisite riding ease, by what 
they know of its wonderful wo. kmanship. 


But when all is said and done, these are 
lesser appeals — subordinate to the deep, un 


derlying reason which is at the back of the 
mindofevery man and woman who considers 
the Cadillac the greatest car in the world. 


Men and women, the world over, are irre 
sistibly attracted to the Cadillac, first, last, 
and most of all, because of its everlasting 
and unvarying dependability. 


That is the determining Cadillac thought 
the thought, which is likewise a certainty 
and a convic tion, that there is nothing thes 
can ever ask of the Cadillac which it will 
not render them. 


The delight and the deep satisfaction of 
this one car is that every tour, every test, 
every day-in-day-out demand, merely 
demonstrates anew its changeless readiness 
and reliability. 


The more closely you study your: own 
thoughts about the Cadillac, and analyze 
its wonderful hold on public approval, the 
more clearly you will see that when people 
call the Cadillac the greatest car in the 
world, they actually mean that it is the 
most trustworthy, the most constant, and 
the most dependable car in the world 


CADILLAC MOTOR CAR COMPANY? DETROIT, MICHIGAN 





ie: fe ee 






THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


(Continued from Page 26) 
demanding div As a rule your divorcee has been 
married only a few years or she is of the sporting class who 
but it is not unusual now to read 


orces 


narries for alimony only; 
yunt of some old gray-haired wife who sails into the 
and demands a divorce from the husband with whom 
he has lived for thirty or forty years. And she will ask for 
t on the same grounds she has endured with meekness all 
years. I do not say she ought not have it. What I 
claim isthat something awful is going on when women of 
that age can rise up and swear themselves out of wedlock. 

The activities of the church were never so well adver- 
but the spiritual experiences of 
If there could be or ever is now 


the acc 


vurt 


those 


tised as they are to-day; 
Christian men are not 
uch a thing as an old-fashioned love feast where somebody 
besides dingy, forlorn preachers at an Annual Conference 
praise the Lord for his blessings, there would be no sign of 
it the next morning on the streets or in the world’s places 
If a very rich and prominent man should rise 
up in an experience meeting and tell what the Lord had 
done for him, and maybe let go enough to move about 
haking hands with the brethren, I reckon this ought to be 
regarded as sensational news, because it so rarely happens. 
Your rich man may be generous, but you almost never see 
him prance in the spirit. I doubt if a man can with his 
pockets full of money. Still, if it did happen the papers 
that mention everything else he does would suppress this. 
I do not know why, unless the witness of public opinion, 
which is far more drastic than the witness of the Spirit, 
might test his professions to the point of bankruptcy 
according to that Scripture which says: ‘Sell all that thou 
hast, and distribute unto the poor.’ I reckon that verse 
in the Bible has kept many an old rich man from going too 
far under the stress of spiritual emotions. But what 
happens in the world reports itself like a ticker in the 
The trend of the times comes in with the congre- 
gation and sits bolt upright during prayers, looking round 
when it should be on its knees 

Peter had barely collected for the Centenary Fund the 
hundred thousand dollars which had been assessed on his 
church when Mr. Cathcart, who contributed most liberally 
to it, beeame involved in a scandal. This was a well-staged 
blackmail performance shockingly personal to Mr. Cath- 
cart, not to go into the details. He was innocent. The 
papers insisted that he was, but they published every scrap 
of this Catheart. Everybody said he was 
innocent, but very few believed that he was entirely so 
I suppose this was because it is very difficult for a man to 
be entirely innocent of anything 
now, what happened in the world began to 
Peter and the press and the promi- 


of business 


church 


news about 


Straight on, 
happen in that church 
nent members had scarcely got Cathcart out of his diffi- 
culties more dead than alive and his pastel-colored clothes 
and-salt tones more becoming to a 
Hunk became insanely jealous 

This was one of 
which occurs fre- 
publie attention. 


changed to the pepper 
man of his age when Mrs 
of Mr. Hunk, and we all heard about it 
those cases of matrimonial biackmail 
quently without attracting so much 
Many a husband lives and dies in an atmosphere of dis- 
trust created by his wife, 
meanness. And there are so many women whose married 
lives are long penal sentences served beneath the ground- 


whom no one else suspects of this 


uspicions of their husbands! 
Mr. Hunk and his wife are members of Peter’s church. 
He 
is one of those dull men who succeed in business by stick- 
ing to it, admirable, decent and distressingly homely. His 
large nose sits a trifle sidewise on his face, as if it perpetu 
ally dodged the thought you aimed at it. He has a double 
chin but not much of a real chin. His large blue eyes are 
bloodshot, always suffused with a sort of physical tear- 
fulness 

Mrs. Hunk is a dark, elderly woman with a wrinkled 
kin and a snap in her black eyes. She suggests still the 
piteful prettiness of her youth. But now she dresses like 
a virtue, which is never a becoming way for any woman to 
She wears her skirts longer 


less 


He is meekly prominent there, she is excessively SO. 


dress, but always accusative 
and wider than the fashion is, her waist tighter and but 
toned up. She walks with a swish, and pops her heels on 
the floor as if authority was vested in these heels. It was 
not that she always preceded Mr. Hunk down the aisle of 
the church on Sunday morning, it was the subdued way he 
followed her that was significant 

One hot afternoon when everything was going from bad 
to worse in this turgid city Mr. Hunk called on Peter 
They went into the study together. From where | sat in 
the parlor I saw Mr. Hunk go back and close the door of 
the study, which meant, of course, that he had something 


very private to say 

They were in there a long time. I could hear the rumble 
of Hunk’'s voice, but nothing at all in reply from Peter. 
Silences fell, then the same voice would begin again in 
broken sentences like that of a man overtaken in prayer by 
the stress of his emotions 

I endeavored to fix my attention on the trimming I was 
crocheting for a pair of pillow cases, but it is very difficult 
to do that at my age when something is going on in the 
next room and you do not know what is going on 


Finally they came out in the hall. I heard Mr. Hunk 
blow his nose, though it was summer weather, when people 
rarely have occasion to blow their noses. He said some- 
thing in the raucous voice of a man whose very words ache 
with grief, and Peter answered soothingly, as he took leave 
of him, that he did not think it was serious and that it 
would soon pass away. This sounded like a boil, but I 
knew it could not be a boil. 

Then Peter came in and sat down. He had the mystified 
look a young doctor must sometimes wear when he is called 
to attend a patient whose complaint is one in which he did 
not graduate as a medical student. 

“ Mother,” he said presently, “I wish you would call on 
Mrs. Hunk.” 

I regarded him inquiringly. 

“Tt is a case I cannot handle,” he went on. 

“What is the matter with Mrs. Hunk?” I asked. 

“She is insanely jealous of her husband,”’ he answered 
with a slow grin, probably at the expense of Hunk’s ludi- 
crous unattractiveness. 

“He was in here a while ago to see me about this. Mrs. 
Hunk has become a crisis. He is all broken up, humiliated. 
Never given her the slightest cause. They have been mar- 
ried nearly thirty years, and this is a new development, 
though he admits that she has always been inclined to 
well, keep an eye on him,” he concluded dryly. 

I told Peter that I was willing to do my Christian duty, 
but that the Spirit had never led me to the folly of trying 
to restore the confidence of another woman in her own 
husband. I said that jealousy was a disease, a form of 
hysteria, and in Mrs. Hunk’s case I thought it was prob- 
ably a virulent form of malicious hysteria. 

“But something must be done. He says he can’t stand 
the inferno of her suspicions,”’ Peter insisted. 

“Well, that is the remedy,” I answered. “If he is inno- 
cent she knows it. So soon as she discovers that he will 
not endure her persecution she will stop it. Tell him to 
show his teeth at Mrs. Hunk!” I advised. 

Peter laughed. 

“All women are instinctively afraid of men,” I ex- 
plained. “If Mr. Hunk went home this evening, roared in 
his strictly masculine voice, found fault with the dinner, 
kicked a chair across the room, and growled a look at his 
wife, she would be a changed woman. She would forget her 
jealousy in this real emergency of soothing a savage beast.” 

Peter laughed again. He said he had no idea I could 
think up such a fiercely unchristian doctrine. I told him 
there was much in human relations that did not come under 
the head of Christian doctrines. 

“The trouble is poor old Hunk is not a savage beast,” 
he said. 

“And he is a good man,” I added, “‘else he would have 
found out long ago how to manage Mrs. Hunk. That is 
frequently the reason why bad men keep their domestic 
relations in order. They create a diversion by being so 
disagreeable at home that they achieve meekness instead 
of suspicion in their wives.” 

Peter said that as Mr. Hunk’s pastor he doubted the 
wisdom of giving this kind of advice. 

I went on crocheting and thinking after he had gone 
back to his study. This affair of the Hunks, I decided, was 
another case of the general insolvency of faith that had 
existed and that no longer existed between these two 
people. Not to believe had become the habit of men and 
women. 

On the previous evening Peter had four young men in to 
dine with us. They were members of his church and 
prominent in business and professional circles. After 
dinner the conversation did what it frequently does in my 
house. It drifted out in a discussion of conditions in the 
world at large, and left me sitting in my silence, merely 
listening. 

I was greatly entertained for a time, as an elder person 
is with the more or less declamatory opinions of young 
people. Then I had a queer experience. Seth Wilkes, who 
is a banker, was talking when I suddenly discovered that 
no one in the parlor except Peter believed a single word 
Wilkes was saying. I was indignant. I felt sorry for this 
earnest young man. Presently Mr. Hickson, who is a 
lawyer, had the floor, and I was astonished to realize that 
no one believed what he said, or even in his sincerity, 
except my son Peter, who sat with his legs crossed, his 
excellent countenance lifted and lighted with the anima- 
tion of perfect faith in everybody’s sincerity. This is why 
I say Peter is a good man. He can so cheerfully and easily 
believe in anybody and everybody. He was far from sus- 
pecting the fact that on this evening it was his own radiant 
confidence which inspired his guests to talk so freely; but 
I laid down my work and witnessed a strange thing, as if I 
had been behind the scenes of these men’s inner minds, and 
i knew before the evening was over that not one of them 
had any confidence in the sincerity of the others. They 
were trained to doubt. They could not have believed just 
the simple word of a man unless it was indorsed, with 
enough collateral put up to make and keep it good. 

Now you may restore confidence in the markets of the 
world that way, with just capital, but you cannot restore 
the confidence of man in man with anything but the 


January /,192i 


renewal of faith in the honor and integrity of men. Re- 
ligion is not the only faith by which we live. All human 
relations must be based upon belief. This is the ruin that 
we face, more disastrous than war or famine. It is a pesti- 
lence that attacks the very soul of mankind. Wisdom is 
becoming cynicism. And all the news of the world is bad. 
Nobody ever marries and lives happily ever after in the 
morning paper, but they are divorced. I wondered what 
would happen, if we read a press dispatch some morning 
that a lady had just died after living forty years with a 
cantankerous and unworthy husband, that she had per- 
formed her love and duties faithfully and patiently, had 
brought up a large family of excellent sons and daughters, 
who were doing well and honorably in the world. Well, it 
would not be regarded as news. The universal suspicion 
would be that a little old Christian obituary had crept 
across the wires by mistake. But if a woman had murdered 
her husband and flung her innocent babes in a manhole of 
a sewer it would be news, telegraphed to every paper in the 
country. 

I mentioned this to Peter that evening at dinner. I 
wanted to know why there was so much bad news and no 
news of goodness. He said a queer thing: 

“*Goodness, mother, is sacred, and it is not talked about 
much. Our virtues are private; but the evil that we do 
concerns the safety of society and is handled by the 
public.” 

Peter sometimes mentions the subconscious mind in his 
sermons when he is digging his congregation. I thought 
when he offered this explanation he had stated one of the 
subconscious truths of human experience. And I had not 
more than thought it before he offered the conscious truth 
and the real reason for the popular currency of sensational 
news, which it seems our virtues never produce. 

“ Besides,”” he went on, “the people demand it. 
they will have it.” 

I retorted that giving the people what they wanted was 
not giving them what they ought to have. I was tempted 
to add that this was the trouble with the ministry, as well 
Preachers were 


And 


as with the gossips and the newspapers. 
softening the gospel so that it would not waken a man dead 
in his trespasses and sins. But I try never to hurt Peter’s 
feelings or to discourage him, so I did not say it. 

In return for this alms which I gave my son in secret I 
reckon the Lord blessed me with an idea, for I had one, like 
a shot, from somewhere. 

I asked Peter why goodness could not be featured 
“like, well, the posters we had to advertise the Centenary 
campaign,” I concluded. 

He turned the point of this question, as he frequently 
did when I had him cornered, by offering me a compliment 
He said I was one fine large feature of goodness myself and 
all I had to do was to go on living. 

I retired early that night, but not to bed. I had a bee in 
my bonnet. Why shouldn’t someone start a propaganda 
campaign advertising that which was good in men and 
women? I sat in my room and thought about it. Then I 
put on my spectacles and turned on the light above my 
desk, took out some paper and sharpened a pencil. 

I was never able to feel the assurance of having a mes- 
sage for the world. The few people I have known afflicted 
this way labored under an absurdly egotistical illusion. 
Rather, I felt now like an old woman who is about to write 
a letter from a far country to my whole dear human family, 
just a letter giving them the news of goodness, and nothing 
else. The extent of my literary labors so far had been the 
book which I wrote years ago about William. This was 
not, strictly speaking, an act of letters, it was the way I 
had of putting a crown on William's head that could never 
be removed by the elders and bishops. This book was not 
published on account of its literary merit, but because it 
recorded the life and the merits of a singularly good man. 
It appeared anonymously, and the authorship was at once 
claimed by so many different women that if I had not been 
William’s only wife I might have doubted my own identity 
as the real author, especially since I could never write the 
same way afterward. But now all at once as I sat there 
before my desk I felt that same singing power of words, 
and I began to set down the thoughts that came to me. | 
do not claim that it was well or smartly done, but the 
matter was excellent— paragraph pictures of the good 
people I had known, with no more connection than there 
was between the divorce notices in the morning paper. 

I wrote a sketch of John and Sarah Hightower. * John 
Hightower was the meanest man I ever knew. He was ill- 
tempered in his home. He was so stingy that Mrs. High- 
tower was reduced to picking up the faulty apples in their 
orchard and selling them to get the money for her mission- 
ery dues. The only variation she ever had in the hard 
monotony of her life was when he was drunk and behaved 
worse than usual. She could have had a divorce for the 
asking, any time, but she never complained. She stood by 
him and their children. She had a curious happiness in 
these children. She was their secret providence. After a 
while, when his sons and daughters had grown up and 
married, old Hightower’s temper seemed to wear out. He 
loosened up a bit. And Mrs. Hightower had a few things 

(Continued on Page 44 








——s 








THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


Congoleum Art-Rug No. 367. The 


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A Sanitary Playground— 


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y) 








30 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 


























It All Depends on the Motor 


All the forces that exist in nature await the development of 
man-made devices which will translate their fundamental energy 
into useful, available power. 

















Chief among today’s instruments for this purpose is the elec- 
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lightening the labor of thousands of women, the satisfactory op- 
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behavior of the motor, alike in industry and in the home. 

This is why it is vital to have Westinghouse Motors on 
motor-driven devices of every kind, for the quality of the motor 
determines the usefulness of the machine. And the quality of 
Westinghouse Motors, small and large, is the solid foundation 
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Benefits of Standardization 


UR investigations of wasteful methods during 
the war pointed out strikingly the great de- 
sirability of standardizing 

hundreds of kinds of practices and 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


‘S BUSINES 


By Floyd W. Parsons 


SS &¢&@ 8A FTseeowr vs BY J. 


EASLEY 








the electrical fixtures hanging from the ceiling o1 
attached to the wails are fastened as solidly in their 
positions as are the radiators, doors and bathtubs 
in the house. No idea could be more absurd than 
that of soldering the joints and 
making a mess of the wires under 





materials. “As a result of the close 
attention that was necessarily given 
to the problem considerable prog- 
ress was made in many industries 
toward the simplification of designs 
of manufactured products and the 
establishment of uniform methods. 
Since the war ended we have re- 
laxed our efforts to standardize 
industrial products and practices; 
however, some of the seed that was 
planted during the time of the na- 
tion’s great need took root, and al- 
ready there is promise of important 
results which will be of wide benefit. 

Not only the United States but 
the whole world is awake to the 
losses resulting from the employ- 
ment of so many different working 
methods foraccomplishing identical 
results. One efficient plan univer- 
sally followed is always far supericr 
toa multitude of practices to attain 
the same end, for, in the latter case, 
many of the methods used must 
necessarily foster waste. Out of a 
dozen ways of doing a thing it is 
certain that one plan is best; or 
at least that one scheme can be 
devised that will include the chief 
merits of all the others. 

When things are not standard- 
ized the result is confusion. For ex- 
ample, take the simple case of the 
many perplexing situations arising 
from the use of fiscal years which 
differ both from the calendar year 
and from one another. Not only 
many corporations but some of our 
states have adopted fiscal years 
that end in March, June or Sep- 
tember. Statisticians who try to 
compile production figures for vari- 
ous commodities are freyuently be- 
wildered by such a mixing of dates. 
About twenty of our states report 
the production of coal for the cal- 
endar year, while the remaining 
states that produce this commodity 
base their totals for annual output 
on a year which includes so many 
months of the current year and a 
certain number of months of the 








the canopies of these fixtures 

Why should we not standardize 
the fixture-hanging outlets? Then 
we could hang a fixture as we now 
hang a picture. Why not buiid 
houses with standardized quick- 
attachable ceiling and bracket out- 
lets, so that the housewife will be 
able to change her electrical fix- 
tures as often as she changes her 
tastes or herfurniture? At the pres- 
ent time, when a tenant moves into 
a house he must be satisfied with 
the fixtures that are already there, 
no matter whether or not they 
harmonize with his furniture de- 
signs. 

When asingle satisfactory fixture- 
hanging outlet is placed in all houses 
it will be possible for the housewife 
when she moves to take her favorite 
fixtures with her to the new house, 
along with the family beds and 
bureaus. 

This would take the lighting 
dealer’s wares out of the class of fix- 
tures and make of them what might 
be termed lighting furniture. 

If a standard outlet receptacle is 
a good thing in the baseboards of a 
house, to make portable lamps easy 
to connect, why is it not a good 
thing to have standard push-plug 
receptacles in the side walls and 
ceilings, so that lighting furniture 
can be put into place as easily and 
quickly as a picture is hung, and 
changed at will to harmonize with 
the rest of the furniture and deco- 
rations in the rooms? There is no 
more reason why a landlord should 
select his tenants’ electrical fixtures 
than there is for his selecting a 
divan for the living room or a table 
for the library. Standardization 
saves, simplifies and satisfies. 





The Progress of 
Invention 


HERE never was a time when 
civilization moved with such 








previous year. Such a situation 
needs no argument to prove its folly. 

The Imperial Statistical Conference of Great Britain 
took a wise step forward when it reached a practical agree- 
ment for making the calendar year the commercial statisti- 
cal year throughout the British Empire. In years past 
some of the British colonies had a fiscal year ending March 
thirty-first, others a fiscal year ending June thirtieth, while 
in the cases of a few colonies the fiscal year has been coinci- 
dent with the calendar year. After the Britishers have 
straightened out this jumble and made their fiscal year 
identical with the calendar year, it will be up to the United 
States Government to fall in line with a movement that is 
perfectly sane, and change Uncle Sam’s fiscal year, which 
now ends June thirtieth, to correspond with the calendar 
year. Several years ago the Interstate Commerce Com- 
mission changed its compilation of the railway statistics 
of the United States from the Government’s fiscal year to 
the calendar year, and enormously increased their value. 
Unless the governments of the world get together on a 
common basis we need not anticipate that private com- 
panies will all see the wisdom of keeping their accounts 
and publishing their reports on the basis of the calendar 
year. 

It is not my intention to deal at length with the problem 
of standardization, for volumes could be written on the 
possibilities of a universal development of the subject. 
However, it is likely that brief reference to one or two con- 
crete examples will stimulate interest in the question, and 
perhaps suggest other fields for the practical development 
of the idea. 

First, let us take the multitude of containers of different 
shapes and sizes now used in the marketing of fruits and 


vegetables. Experts tell us that much of the confusion 
resulting from the use of these containers would be elimi- 
nated through the establishment of a universal unit of 
measurement. The United States Department of Agricul- 
ture has recognized the deficiencies of the situation and 
recommended the adoption of the Winchester bushel, of 
2150.42 cubic inches, as the standard unit of bushel meas- 
urement. With this container there is no difficulty in 
determining whether the measure is short, as it is required 
to be level full. 

It is a unit of sufficient size to permit the buyer readily 
to distinguish the multiples that are practicable for use in 
the sale and shipment of fruits and vegetables. Further- 
more, the establishment of this unit of measurement for 
containers of fruits or vegetables sold by volume would 
constitute an important step toward formulating a con- 
sistent policy of standardization which could be applied 
to practically all types of packages. The Government's 
specialists also believe that all weight-per-bushel laws re- 
lating to fruits and vegetables should be repealed, for the 
reason that there is no definite relation between dry 
measure and weight. For example, a basket that contains 
fifty pounds of small apples may not hold more than forty- 
five pounds of large ones. Containers are used inter- 
changeably, and a box constructed to hold fifty pounds of 
apples often becomes a twenty-five-pound box when filled 
with snap beans. 

Let me next jump from the agricultural field to the 
electrical industry. Here we have ever so many oppor- 
tunities to simplify methods, but a single example will 
drive the thought home. At the present time practically all 


speed and the developments were 
so important as during the past 
few years. War is always a curse and a waster, but at the 
same time it is a stimulator of thought and invention. The 
economic, political and industria] character of the world 
practically has been remade during the past thirty-six 
months. Mighty monarchies have given way to strange 
new experiments in government; intoxicants have been 
outlawed by the earth’s greatest democracy; the enfran- 
chisement of women has become a fact; and a movement 
is under way to banish war forever 
these epochal changes have come equally important ad- 
vances in science. Even the records of the United States 
Patent Office verify the belief that human ingenuity has 
lately been stimulated, for in the past fiscal year there were 


Simultaneously with 


eighty-one thousand nine hundred forty-eight application 
for patent rights on inventions filed in this country, as 
compared with sixty-two thousand seven hundred fift 
five during the previous vear 

In the olden times, before the peoples of the earth were 
united into one large family by the wireless and the tel 
graph, the news of great discoveries traveled slowly from 
country to country; 
often pass before widely separated nations would benefit 
from new scientific ideas. This is no longer true, for the 
man in Tokio will read to-morrow the details of an inven 
tion made public in Chicago or St. Louis to-day. Thus the 
whole world quickly profits and civilization is swept for 
ward at ever-increasing speed by the added impetus o 
each new discovery. 

Most inventions, of course, are the outcome of neces 
sity. Not long ago the world faced a sugar shortage, and 
dozens of scientists turned their attention to developing 


and as a consequence years would 








32 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


ome practical substitute for the sweet stuff. One of the 





vestigator tarted to experiment with sawdust, and 
found that an important sugar can be pre pared from tris 
material by hydré s with acid. This sugar, prepared 
f wood, juite different from the sugar of the breal 
fast table it 1ext e or glucose and is identical with 
the igar obtained | the acid treatment of starch. Like 
tne glucose alrea manufactured, the wood Sugar may 
eventually come to have a wide use commercially. Since 
t has a dist t nutritive value, it might be employed as an 
mportant component of various sirups. The experiments 
howed that different species of trees produce different 
f sugar Scientifical peaking, however, it is in- 
rect to spe f any kind of glucose as sugar, for the 
teri war should be used only t » refer to sucrose, or cane 


During the war the difficulties of ocean transportation 
earcity in wool in many parts of the 





ile a se 1 
world, and this was nowhere felt more keenly than in Great 
Britair 
Investigations were undertaken to develop a remedy 
for the trouble, and it was not long until a good artifi 
al wool was produced. The next step presented even 


but these were largely overcome when 
nning artificial wool into 


yreater diffic iltic 


experiments showed a wa of 





fabric with as much success as had been attained in 
spinning the real wool 


Then came the crisis in the matter of a sufficient supply 
of paper and here agall science tarted experiment 3 


which have already proved that bamboo and various tree- 
like plants and shrubby grasses of the same genus can be 
made into satisfactory grades of paper 

An important disco 





ve that will affect the glass mar- 
kets of the world was that of large deposits of granulite in 


Devonshire, England, in the district made famous by 


¥ 
Blackmore’s Lorna Doone. This material contains not 
only silica but potash, soda and alumina, all of which are 


necessary in glassmaking. This granulite was known to 
exist in practically unlimited quantities, but it required 
eentih research to reveal that the 


used on a large scale to make what will probably be the 


ibstance could be 


cheapest glass in the world. Even the waste heaps result 
ing from the operations of a small company that quarried 
the material for use ir enameling porcelain can be turned 
to account, for the bla tone which was formerly con 
idered suitable only for road metal can now be used for 


making a fine grade of beer bottles. The granulite will now 


be used not onl in the manufacture of dressed-glass 
articles and window glass, but it will also be employed in 
the manufacture of enameled metal ware and electrical 
nonconducting articl 

Here in the United States we are rapidly adapting many 
Engineers of the 
United States Army helped to perfect a French invention 
that was used by the Allies to detect, through the earth, 


of the war inventions to industrial use 


the upping and underground mining operations of the 
enemy 

nee the war ended other American engineers, espe 
cially those of the Federal Bureau of Mines, commenced 
experiments with this little device called a geophone and 
have applied it to rescue work in our mines. The in- 
trument, though small, is essentially a sei mograph, since 
it worl on the same principle as the ponderous ap- 
paratus by which earthquake tremors are recorded. If the 
instrument is placed on the ground and anyone is pound 





ing or digging in the vicinity, energy is transmitted in wave 

motion through the earth, and the ground waves shake the 

geophone case. The wave vibrations are transmitted to 
' 


the eardrum of the observer and, like other rapid air 
wave produ e sound effect 

As a general rule two instruments are used, each being 
ittached to an ear It has been found that the sound i 
apparently louder from the instrument nearer the source 
of the sound, even though the geophones are placed not 
more than two feet apart 

It is possible, by moving the instruments about, to 
cate a point where the ound will be of the ame apparent 


ntensity in both ear [he direction of the point of origin 








of the sound is then on a perpendicular to tie line connect- 
ing the centers of the two instruments, either in front of 
or behind the observer. Further observations will show 
which side. When men entombed in coal or metal mines 
are pounding in the hope that they may be located by 
means of the geophones, they should strike heavy, slow 
blows upon the coal or rock. In regard to the distances 
that sounds can be detected through the earth, one 
investigator states that sledge pounding can be heard in a 
worked-out area of a coal mine at least fifteen hundred 
feet, through the solid coal two thousand feet, and through 
solid rock about one-half mile. 

Blows from a pick, tamping bar or heavy rock can be 
detected two-thirds as far. Nothing invented in recent 
years will likely be of as great value for rescue work in 
mines as the geophone. These devices should also prove 
of value in mine surveying for checking the positions of 
headings, raises, and so on. The instrument ‘is so delicate 
that through its use the words used in an ordinary con- 
versation can be understood fairly well through fifty feet 
of solid coal. 

Government engineers used the geophones successfully 
in locating leaks in the water mains of a big city in Penn- 
sylvania. The water circulating in the ordinary city main 
can be heard with the geophones when they are placed on 
the surface ten to twelve feet above the pipe. One leak 
was located in a few minutes, although the water depart- 
ment of the city had been trying to find it for two weeks. 
The leak could be heard from the surface from any point 
within a circle sixty feet in diameter. In another instance 
the geophones were also used successfully to locate a leak 
n a one-inch pipe serving a residence. 


} 


It is likely that the chemists of the world learned more 
about gases and their properties during the few years of 
war than was found out during all of the century that 
preceded it. Many of the more important discoveries 
were made after hostilities ceased, and it is fortunate for 
humanity that not all of the knowledge acquired was put 
to deadly use. Should there ever be another great con- 
flict of nations, and gas warfare be permitted, the results 
from this style of fighting would be so terrible that the 
It is far 
more pleasant to record the use of gas masks in fighting 
forest fires and in attempts to rescue lives and property 
from burning buildings than to tell of their effectiveness as 


world would be horrified by the consequences 


weapons of war. 

Now our engineers are working with harmless gases to 
save lives rather than with poisonous vapors to injure and 
kill. One interesting development is the use of an odorous 
gas or vapor to warn miners of impending danger. Most 
signaling devices appeal to the eye or the ear. In this new 
scheme the nose receives the warning. If the men working 
underground appear to be in danger, one-half to one pint 
of a strong-smelling liquid, preferably one with a vile odor, 
is injected into the main compressed-air line at the sur- 
face. The air current quickly vaporizes the stench liquid 
and carries it to all parts of the mine where compressed 
air is used. 

This constitutes a positive warning to the miners that 
they must come to the surface. The United States 
Bureau of Mines recommends ethyl mercaptan as a suit- 
able substance to use in providing stench warnings. It 
has a skunklike odor that will not go unnoticed. The 
cost of the substance is only two dollars twenty-five cents 
a pound, and but one and three-quarter pints of ethyl 
tan are re juired for each hundred thousand feet of 


mercal 
free air entering the mine a minute. In case the sub 
stance mentioned cannot be obtained, a good substitute is 
amyl acetate, or artificial banana oil. 

Stench warnings are not considered suitable for use in 
coal mines, as the stench must be introduced into the 
ventilating current, which travels at a much slower velocity 
than the compressed air used in operating drills in metal 
mines. 

Practical tests show that stench warnings bring quick 
action in metal mines. Experiments have proved that an 
entire mine can be saturated with an odor in from five to 


ten minutes, 


January 1,192! 


Since this is an age of electricity, it is only natural that 
electrical inventions should predominate. Now it is pos- 
sible to guide a ship into port during a fog and thereby save 
two or three thousand dollars a day, which is the loss 
incurred by a big liner when it must anchor outside the 
harbor and wait for a fog to clear away. In the scheme 
recently perfected a magnetized cable is laid from the 
sheltered waters within the harbor to a point outside. 
There is created about the cable an electromagnetic field, 
and into this the incoming vessel must sail. The person 
piloting the ship fits on a headpiece and listens to the 
clicking of a code word which grows louder or fainter as the 
vessel moves toward or away from the magnetized cable. 

It is estimated that the cost of equipping a ship with 
the necessary receiving coils and other essential ap- 
paratus would only be about twelve hundred dollars. The 
owners of a vessel could save this cost in a day. 

Newly developed devices will now calculate the electrical 
energy furnished by the beating of the human heart, while 
equally wonderful machines are able to reproduce a picture 
of the human voice and its vibrations on what is known 
as an oscillograph. Then there is the recently invented 
epidiascope, which magnifies inflections of the human voice 
and renders it likely that not only the emotions of people 
will soon be determined with ease but many of our hidden 
motives will be likewise revealed. When the epidiascope 
gets going good, liars and hypocrites will be dragged forth 
to public gaze. Only the deaf and dumb will be able to 
keep secrets. 

Another invention that promises well enables the blind 
to read by ear. This device is based on a sound alphabet, 
similar to the Morse code, only the dash is eliminated and 
the dot is used in various combinations. The story or talk 
is recorded on a phonograph record, and the blind person, 
after becoming familiar with the code, is able to read 
by ear rather than by the fingers as with embossed alpha- 
bets. This latter system is difficult to master, while a 
sound code can be learned in a few weeks. The text of 
a two-hundred-page book can be transferred to a phono- 
graph record six inches in diameter. 

The same book reproduced in embossed code vould 
require one thousand pages. If ordinary words were used 
instead of the sound alphabet, it would take four hundred 
phonograph records to reproduce what can be recorded on 
one six-inch record. The entire works of Dickens and 
Shakspere reproduced on records by this sound-code 
method could be placed in a cylindrical box six inches high 
and six inches in diameter. The cost of the Bible em- 
bossed for the blind amounts to a large sum, for the text 
requires several volumes. Reproduced on a record by 
the method described, the total cost would be less than 
fifty cents. 

Mechanical ingenuity has even come to the aid of the 
lonely lighthouse keepers who spend the greater part of 
their days isolated from all that is supposed to make life 
worth while. In certain parts of the world existence in a 
lighthouse is neither healthful nor agreeable. As a result 
we now have a system of unattended lights. Acetylene 
dissolved in acetone at ten atmospheres pressure is used, 
ind there are ten cylinders, each containing one hundred 
seventeen cubic feet, all coupled together. They are only 
changed once a year. The light is turned on and off by a 
sun valve which is so delicate that the light has been seen 
to come into operation during a rainstorm. A pilot flame 
is always burning. The first cost of the automatic light- 
house compares favorably with that of a manned light, 
and the running cost is only about one-twentieth. The 
unattended lights have a visibility of thirteen miles, and 
the few already put into operation have given absolutely 
no trouble. 

The foregoing are but a few of the many comparatively 
recent scientific developments that are being adapted to 
the service of mankind. The list might be extended in- 
definitely. However, the purpose of the story is only to 
indicate the trend of invention and create in the minds 
of readers an imaginative picture of the marvels civiliza- 
tion will surely reveal in the wonderful era of machine 
supremacy we are now entering. 





ad 
che 








i, Re 


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eh 
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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 33 


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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


January 1,192! 


ALVARO OBREGON: AS CABINET MINISTER 


(Continued from Page 23) 


In order to keep Villa faithful, or at 
least helpful to the cause, Obreg6n agreed 
to join him in making a proposal] to the 
First Chief, of which the gist was that 
Carranza was to be provisional president; 
that the elections were to be held 
as all the requisite preliminary measures 
had been adopted, and that neither gov- 
ernors of states nor any provisional digni- 
tary should be eligible for the presidency 
of the republic 

That compromise would, in Obregén’'s 
judgment, have sufficed to keep the revo- 
lutionary phalanx from being rent in two, 
and might have spared the country from 
years of bloodshed. Hence it seemed worth 
adopting, even at a sacrifice. But it had 
fatal flaw in the eyes of the man to 
whom it was addressed: It disqualified 
Carranza from soliciting or accepting the 
office of constitutional president and, as 
it happened, his ambition began just at the 
point where it should have ended—he was 
a fair provisional chief but one of the 
worst constitutional presidents. 

His reply to the proposal was so char- 
acteristic that it definitely fixed Obregén’s 
idea of the man and of his specific worth. 
Having approved the clause which recog- 
nized himself as provisional president, 
Carranza laid it down that the other provi- 
sions, “ being of transcendental importance, 
ought not be referred to the judgment of 
three or four persons, but should be dis- 
cussed and approved by an assembly in 
which the country is duly represented.” 
It thus became obvious that the substance 
of Carranza’s plan for saving his native 
land was that he himself should play the 
exclusive part of savior, He was to be 
considered a being apart, much as the 
look upon their queen, for his conception 
of equality was applicable only to others. 
But this painful discovery made no altera- 
tion in Obregén’s attitude. Although his 
estimate of his chief was no + ger doubt- 
ful, he was the last man to be deterred 
from prosecuting a life aim by mere per- 
sonal cross currents. What he was working 
for was the abolition of anarchy and the 
establishment of peace and prosperity in 
Mexico, and this could be achieved only by 
the preservation of concord and the prac- 
tice of perseverance. 

If he were to withdraw his support from 
Carranza a schism would necessarily result 
which would entail the collapse of the 
revolutionary movement. Hence he stood 
firmly by a chief who mistook his own as- 
cendancy for the welfare of his country, 
because that chief was for the moment the 
center and rallying point for all the forces 
that were marshaled against civil war and 
anarchy, It was for like reasons that later 
on the convention of Aguascalientes de- 
cided that Carranza should be asked to 
retire from the chiefship in favor of Gen. 
Eulalio Gutierrez, on condition that Villa 
also resigned his command. Now Obregén, 
who was a member of thai convention, had 
pledge -d himself to the resolution, and when 
Carranza evinced displeasure and unwill- 
ingness to submit, Obregén said to him: 
‘Don Venustiano, I must and will support 
Gutierrez as president if Villa carries out 
his part of the compact; and the mainte- 
nance of a united front is my only motive.” 


as soon 


one 


bees 


A Human Object Lesson 


Villa preferred to 
and the 


But as it turned out, 
remain in his element of turmoil, 
civil war followed its course. 

In that way it came about that for a 
considerable while Carranza was the man 
who served Obregén as an object lesson in 
Mexican politics. Powerfully built, with a 
venerable countenance to which a patri- 
archal beard and huge spectacles imparted 
a touch of the Oriental mystic, he was al- 
wavs a respectable, never a popular figure; 
for he lacked not only the personal magnet- 
ism which draws and captivates the mul- 
titude, but also the straightforwardness, 
trust and affability of address which form 
the cement of ordinary social relations. In 
his later years he was eminently ungenial. 

He possessed flatterers, favorites and 
self-seeking helpers, but no disinterested 
friends. He trusted none and acted 
though he suspected all. Advice, whenceso- 
ever it might come, appeared to him to be 
the beginning of a plot or the symptom of 
an incipient rebellion, and was resented 
accordingly. He never permitted his own 
plans to be criticized nor the suggestions of 


others to be advocated. In order to get a 
hearing for a project one had to piece it 
together from views which he himself had 
expressed or hinted at in casual conversa- 
tions, and the only man possessed of the 
materials for devising such schemes and of 
the qualities and defects indispensable and 
adequate to this rdle of adroit intellectual 
accoucheur was Luis Cabrera, one of the 
best read, most versatile and plausible 
writers in the republic. The indirect in- 
fluence of this remarkable man upon Car- 
ranza, and through him upon the course of 
Mexican affairs, is writ large in the con- 
temporary annals of that ill-starred country. 
That Carranza looked upon his own un- 
questioned ascendancy as at once the cause 
and the mainstay of public order and 
national prosperity is notorious. This con- 
ceit was blameworthy only because it was 
delusive. So common is it in publie life, 
however, that it would be a blessing if the 
well-being of the community were the in- 
variable consequence of the attainment of 
office by the successful politician. As 
things are, if the man who aims at power be 
the one who i is able to wield it to the best 
purpose his ambition cannot reasonably be 
censured. If Don Venustiano had been a 
man of vision, grasp and moral rectitude, 
capable of guiding the unchained forces of 
the revolution, no serious objection could 
be taken to his striving. Unhappily he was 
the reverse of this. Stubbornness usurped 
the place of will power, and rustic shrewd- 
ness bordering upon cunning that of superior 
intelligence. He resembled most Mexican 
reformers in his set purpose so to better his 
country that he himself should be its lord 
and master, 


The First Chief's Methods 


But his defects were decorously con- 
cealed under an exterior which not merely 
inspired decent respect, but also impresse “d 
the average man with a belief in his wis- 
dom and resolution. He read much, but 
he knew the outside world and—one may 
add—a great part of his own country solely 
through books and reports containing only 
other people’s impressions, while the real- 
ity was a book of seven seals to him. His 
natural haughtiness and self-esteem grad- 
ually drew him into veiled antagonism to 
the cause of orderly government and public 
morality, and his shortsightedness pre- 
vented him from discerning this. It is no 
exaggeration to say that he was poorly 
equipped for any such great enterprise as 
that on which he embarked, and that he 
owed his elevation largely to Obreg6n and 
his long tenure of power to President 
Wilson. 

Those facts and inferences impressed 
themselves little by little on the mind of 
the general, who, however, kept his gaze 
riveted throughout on the goal toward 
which the country was imperceptibly ad- 
vancing. 

One marked instance of Carranza’s dis- 
trust and fear lest some popular leader 
should arise to dispute with him the su- 
preme power occurred in thesummer of 1913. 
Obregon was then making noteworthy 
headway against the usurper Huerta, and 
fast gaining a reputation for military in- 
vincibility which might awaken national 
enthusiasm if allowed to grow unchecked. 
Suddenly Carranza issued orders suspend- 
ing offensive operations in the north and 
depriving the victorious troops there of the 
wherewithal to attack the enemy. The 
munitions of war he caused to be sent to 
Matamoros to a general of his own crea- 
tion, Pablo Gonzdlez, who was expected to 
achieve the victories necessary to eclipse 
Obregén’s successes. This fatuous measure 
retarded the defeat of Huerta by some six 
months, and protracted the sufferings of 
the population correspondingly. 

It is but fair to say that however certain 
Obreg6n’s zealous friends and Carranza’s 
bitter enemies may feel that that ill-judged 
order was the outcome of mean jealousy 
and a desire to keep a commanding figure 
from rising above the dead level of medi- 
ocrity, the unbiased chronicler will have to 
add to the considerations which may pos- 
sibly have moved Carranza a reasonable 
fear warranted by Mexican history that 
any military chief who rose high in popular 
estimation would seek to overthrow the 
constitutional government at the risk of 
precipitating a fratricidal war. And the 
late First Chief is entitled to the benefit of 


the doubt. None the less, Obreg6n, who 

was burning with fierce impatience to drive 
Huerta from thedictatorial armchair, chafed 
under this clogging system of checks and 
counterchecks. 

He was all the more exasperated that 
Sefior Gonzdlez was making no perceptible 
headway, and indeed could hardly be ex- 
pected to make any; for by all accounts the 
troops commanded by that general were 
among the most undisciplined and ruth- 
less bodies of men that even Mexico had 
seen. They delighted in destruction for 
its own sake; destruction of everything 
but the enemy’s forces. And yet General 
Gonz4lez enjoyed the services of a highly 
paid staff which had no equal in military 
history—in point of numbers. It consisted 
of some four hundred and sixty members, 
and included a large element of female ad- 
venturers rebellious to rudimentary con- 
ventionality and avid of pelf. Many of 
these hetere had received military rank 
for their favors, some being colonels, others 
captains and lieutenants—and all of them 
drew corresponding pay. 

That a.man of Carranza’s ambition and 
inborn shrewdness should have expected 
any military success from an army such as 
that is hardly conceivable. And yet it 
remains on record that he jeopardized the 
triumph of the revolutionary movement 
by withdrawing munitions from Obregén’s 
army, consigning them to General Gon- 
zalez, and suspending the only operations 
of which the enemy stood in dread. He 
also squandered the substance of the nation, 
paying, feeding and clothing those dregs 
and scourges of the community. It is note- 
worthy that General GonzAlez himself re- 
ceived, over and above his pay and all the 
expenses of his motley staff and of the rank 
and file, one thousand pesos daily for his 
personal needs or caprices. 

No less curious and characteristic is the 
fact, convincing proofs of which are still 
available, that later on, at the very time 
indeed that Obreg6én was fighting and re- 
pulsing Villa, the First Chief, whom he was 
thus elevating to the highest place in the 
republic, had sent secret agents to the 
United States with instructions to get a 
section of the press there to insert articles 
against Obregénism on the ground that 
Obreg6n was a wild socialist, and if he 
played the game of politics would be a grave 
danger to order and tranquillity. 


Carranza’s Fear of Rivatry 


This bent toward underhand maneuvers 
and insidious double dealing is a persistent 
trait in Mexican politics. In a previous 
chapter we saw that at a most critical 
moment, when a split in the forces was im- 
minent, Obreg6én, intent on bridging the 
chasm between Carranza and Villa, had 
gone to Chihuahua, running the risk of 
being murdered by the latter. vn geen 
who was fully aware of his — $ pre- 
carious situation, rendered it quite I 10pe less 
by dispatching an angry ond humiliating 
telegram to Villa. 

That telegram was virtually tantamount 
to Obreg6n’s death warrant, and if the sen- 
tence was not executed it was owing solely 
to the remarkable series of lucky accidents 
already described. It requires therefore an 
unusual degree of Christian charity or mag- 
nanimity to ascribe this and similar actions 
of the First Chief to a motive which does 
not challenge the current estimate either 
of his moral standard or of his intellectual 
equipment. 

nature like Obregén’s, instinctively 
observant and superlatively impressible to 
the incongruous in life and action, gave 
their full value to those amazing facts. It 
was true then that a whirl of personal in- 
terests and unavoidable aims were impart- 
ing a wrong direction to the movement 
which he with indomitable spirit was toil- 
ing and moiling to bring to the one desirable 
goal. His mind was occasionally haunted 
by misgivings which events justified as to 
the changes that the vicissitudes of politics 
might eventually produce, even in many 
of those who were still the bearers of the 
new gospel. But these transient presenti- 
ments never caused him to falter or to 
hesitate. 

His is not a brooding soul. He is essen- 
tially a doer, in close sympathy with the 
onward march of the age and the hour, and 
irresistibly impelled to appeal to experience 
and to trust to it for guidance. 


But his faith in Carranza was shaken. 
Continued loyalty to the First Chief was 
thenceforth only loyalty to the cause, 
rooted in a desire to fructify the hard-won 
victory and consolidate such constructive 
forces as could still be gathered round the 
lost leader. 

Numerous instances might be given of 
Carranza’s irrational distrust of Obregén 
as the rival from whom he had most to fear. 
Over the relations of those two men fate 
from the very outset might be said to have 
flung its chilling shadow, of which they 
were both fitfully conscious. At the height 
of Carranza’s power the image of Obregén 
seems to have discharged the functions of 
the skeleton at the feast, acting as a sort of 
memento mori. 

At times the First Chief appeared to be 
haunted by a superstitious dread of his 
military associate, inexplicable by anything 
that had passed between them, and yet so 
strong that he found it difficult to master 
and impossible to conceal. A mere coinci- 
dence, interesting to a child but of no sig- 
nificance to a man of action, would appeal 
to the mystical side of his nature, evoke 
disturbing thoughts and leave a profound 
impress. Forexample, Carranza, describing 
the emotion which the sudden arrest of 
President Madero awakened within him, 
told this story: 

“T, who certainly am not given to pray, 
actually felt impelled to uplift my voice 
in earnest supplication to the saint of the 
day that he would save Madero’s life and 
have him set at liberty. And I asked an 
adjutant to find me the name of that saint. 
Now is it not curious, to say the least, that 
it chanced to be on the nineteenth of Feb- 
ruary that the evil tidings reached me and 
that that day is dedicated to Saint Alvaro, 
Obreg6n’s patron saint? It is very curious! 
Alvaro!” 


Calling Carranza’s Bluff 


How constantly on the alert Carranza 
was to keep Obreg6n in sight and as far 
as possible under his control may be illus- 
trated by another little story which also 
incidentally characterizes the circuitous 
methods of the one and the plain frank- 
heartedness of the other. One day in the 
city of Hermosillo, at the height of the 
campaign, Obregén’s orderly entered the 
room with a visiting card in his hand and 
announced that a gentleman wished to 
see him. When ushered in, the stranger 
presented a note of introduction from his 
friend Carranza. It set forth that the 
bearer was a friend and officer of great 
experience and trust who could make him- 
self extremely useful as chief of the gen- 
eral’s staff, and expressed the hope that 
Obreg6n would verify his fitness in the 
course of a friendly talk, and that if he 
found him qualified would give him the 
position. 

Obregon was annoyed less by the pro- 
posal, although that, too, seemed uncalled 
for and offensive, than by the artful way in 
which it was made. After a few friendly 
words with his visitor, he sought out Car- 
ranza, and holding up the letter inquired, 
“Is this an order? If so, I should like to 
have it in writing.” 


An order? Oh, no! 


mendation; 


It is only a recom- 
a friendly suggestion. Still I 
do earnestly request you to take it into 
consideration. X is an accomplished officer, 
conversant with the technic of the military 
art, which is a strong point, and therefore 
well fitted for the post.’ 

“The post is not vacant,” 
eral Obregon. 

“All posts on my staff are filled by young 
men who have my confidence and deserve 
it, and if this letter is not going to be 
transformed into a formal written com- 
mand they will all continue to occupy their 
present positions.” 

Carranza, like the cat that dearly loves 
the fish but shrinks from wetting its tail, 
hesitated to issue an order which might 
have grave consequences, so the matter 
ended there. 

But Don Venustiano, in his exertions to 
retain the supreme power unchailenged, did 

not confine himself to measures of super- 
vision, checks and kindred precautions. In- 
sapable of comprehending the motives to 
which Obregén was responsive, he tried 
him very guardedly with the usual methods 
which had proved so efficacious with a 
(Continued on Page 37) 


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(Continued from Page 34) 
number of the champions of democracy and 
public morality. 

Many Mexican generals and politicians 
were impressible to motives of a vulgar 
nature. Was this general an exception? He 


would ascertain. Accordingly one day he 
inquired of Obregén how the garbanzo crop 
looked in the north, and what were the 
prospects of a good harvest there. The 
reply was that there were hopes of a fair 
crop. Soon afterward Obregén, to his sur- 
prise, received from the First Chief an 
official pass authorizing him to have his 
produce conveyed over the frontier free of 
the export duty to which everybody else 
was subject. Obreg6n returned it forth- 
with, explaining that he saw no reason why 
he should be exempted from a tax which 
fell upon everybody else. 

“Everybody else has not rendered the 
same services to the state as you have.” 

“But I have been paid for them in full 
both by the state and by my conscience,” 
was the answer. 

“Well, but General Maytorena has ac- 
cepted a pass entitling him to export two 
thousand head of cattle duty free, so you 
see you will not be alone.” 

“In such cases examples go for nothing. 
I am not Maytorena, nor have we both a 
conscience in common.” 

The pass was returned to the First Chief 
and the export duty paid in full. Three 
years later, when Obregén had sent in his 
army accounts, they included certain debts 
which he had set down to be deducted irom 
the sum due to him. Carranza, however, in 

a lordly spirit, had the entire sum paid to 
him and canceled the debts. Obregé6n re- 
fused to accept the remission, and insisted 
on the liability being subtract 

“But I have done the same for General 
X,”’ was the justification offered. 

The answer, however, was an emphatic 
refusal to accept any such concessions. 
The only occasion on which Obreg6n con- 
sented to receive anything more than his 
pay was when a money recompense was 
voted to all the generals without excep- 
tion, as is done in Great Britain and some 
other countries, after the termination of a 
successful campaign. 

On the occasion of Obregén’s second 
marriage Carranza presented him as a wed- 
ding gift with a superb motor car fit for a 
prince. But the general, whose tastes are 
simple and who abhors show, continued to 
use his own plain automobile, and soon 
afterward had to sell them both. Carranza, 
having heard of the transaction, asked him 
reproachfully when they next met why he 
had disposed of the wedding present. 

“The truth is that I had certain liabili- 
ties to meet, and as I lacked ready money 
and could not disappoint my creditors, I 
sold not only the car which you so kindly 
gave me, but also my own.’ 

“Why ever did you not tell me?” asked 
the First Chief. ‘“‘I would have settled 
those bills at once. But it is not yet too 
late. Let me know the amount.” 

“It would be too late at any time, then 
or now, for anything but my sincere thanks 
for your kind offer,’ was Obregén’s cate- 
gorical response. 


The Three Chiefs 


There is little doubt that Don Venusti- 
ano misinterpreted those and other similar 
refusals, ascribing them to an intention on 
the general’s part to mortify him. The fact 
is, however, that he never understood— 
could not, in fact, understand—the man 
with whom he had to deal. Ethically as 
well as intellectually they were moving on 
different planes. Obregén on the other 
hand took the measure of the president’s 
mental and moral equipment with accu- 
racy, but judged him with a degree of 
leniency which falls little short of the ideal 
of Christian charity. None the less, his keen 
sense of humor was tickled by the futile 
efforts made by the president to reconcile 
theory with practice, duty with dereliction, 
democratic principles with dictatorial pro- 
pensity. When in this’ vein he one day 
remarked to Carranza, “One of the news- 
papers has published an interview which 
its represe ntativ e here had with you a short 
time ago. 

“Possibly—what did it say? Anything 
important or sensational?” 

“No, no! The correspondent merely 
stated that he had asked you who was 
Huerta, and that you had replied, ‘Chief of 
bandits.’ Next he inquired who Villa was, 
and you had answered, ‘Chief of the high- 
waymen.’ Finally he requested you to 





define your own position, and you told him 
that you were the Supreme Chief.” 

But the First Chief lacked the sense of 
humor, and merely frowned. 

Carranza’s fidus Achates was a lawyer 
named Luis Cabrera, one of the ablest men 
in the republic, as writer, conversation- 
alist, composer of diplomatic notes and 
deviser of expedients. He was a veritable 
prestidigitator of the chancellery, a past 
master in the vanishing art of weavin 
what the Italians term combinazioni ani 
devising etal answers to insoluble 
riddles. Self-possessed, good-humored, ver- 
satile and fluent, he could talk for hours 
and put forward amazi aradoxes with- 
out being tedious. pm A further pos- 
sessed what was a ame recommendation 
in Carranza’s eyes—the advantage of being 
contented to flourish like the violet in the 
shade. 

This retiring disposition had its advan- 
tages. It carried with it exemption from 
responsibility, and responsibility was a 
specter of which he had a mortal fear. 
Consequently he allowed his master to 
gather in whatever of praise or blame 
accrued to the author of the various shifts 
which usurped the place of a policy. Of 
him, therefore, as a possible rival, the presi- 
dent had no fear. 


Cabrera’s Adroitness 


During his connection with Carranza, 
which lasted until the latter’s death, he set 
his mark upon Mexican affairs and acquired 
for the republic a reputation abroad which 
it has not yet outlived. He owed such 
success as he achieved—and in particular 
his master’s undisturbed tenure of office— 
to his exalted foreign ally, President Wil- 
son, whose idealism in politics, like that of 
President Madero, might aptly be termed 
the virtue of inexperience. Sefior Cabrera 
had the valuable knack of presenting in 
literary or legal shape Carranza’s own dis- 
connected ideas or wishes, and of produc- 
ing a pleasant surprise in the president’s 
mind at the likeness between their modes 
of thinking. But the materials on which 
Cabrera worked were not human beings, 
but documents, and the information which 
he conveyed to his master consisted of his 
own impressions of other people’s concep- 
tions. 

Hence they both lived in an imaginary 
world until the month of May, 1920, when 
the reality, like a puff of fresh air blowing 
upon an old Egyptian papyrus, scattered it 
to dust on the ground. 

An instance of Sefior Cabrera’s adroit- 
ness occurred in Vera Cruz when Car- 
ranza’s policy had become so obnoxious 
even to members of his own cabinet, of 
whom Cabrera was one, that they could 
brook it no longer. The ministers met, dis- 
cussed the situation and unanimously de- 
cided to resign in a body by way of protest. 
Carranza accepted the resignations of all 
but Cabrera. 

Obreg6n’s forbearance during this long 
period of probation was exemplary. But 
neither by deed nor by word did he ever 
allow his attitude to be mistaken for con- 
nivance or his judgment to be construed as 
approbation. Whenever an opportunity 
arose to make his position clear he spoke 
out fearlessly. He accepted Carranza’s 
invitation to take over the Ministry of 
War, but solely because he persuaded Pood 
self that his refusal might have so weakened 
the government as to endanger its stability, 
and this he made clear to the president, 
not only in words, but also in significant 
acts. For example, it was part of his duty 
as War Minister to sign an order peri- 
odically in virtue of which General Gon- 
zAlez was wont to receive, over and above 
all other allowances and his pay as general, 
one thousand Mexican dollars per day for 
private expenses, of which he had to render 
no account. 

This for an advocate of equality and a 
champion of the lackalls was indeed a fall 
from grace, and the War Minister winced 
at it. Still the document was regularly laid 
before him for his signature—and this is 
what he wrote: ‘By special order of the 
First Chief.” 

“Why do you sign in that unusual 
way?” asked Carranza one day. ‘‘ Why not 
set your name under the order as you do in 
other cases?” 

“Because if I did my approval would be 
supposed to go with my signature. And as 


I strongly disapprove of making such an 
allowance to General Gonzélez, I have to 
state expressly whence the order ema- 
nates.”’ 


And he refused to desist. 


THE SATURDAY 


EVENING POST 


Nor was it only to Carranza that Obre- 
gon bade defiance when defiance was 
prompted by respect for truth or fidelity to 
principle. He spoke out his mind bluntly 
and fully to parliament when that sacred 
body, in deference to the president’s whim, 
swerved from the straight course without 
a qualm, for with him there is no accepta- 
tion of persons or of assemblies. Truth 
does not become falsehood because it 
chances to be resented by those who deem 
themselves the spokesmen of the people. 
Obreg6n obeys no manifestations of force, 
however portentous, whether they proceed 
from above or below. The object of his 
solicitude is indeed the people; but the 
people are nowise identical with a socialistic 
and still less with a Bolshevist crowd. or 
even with large gatherings of benighted 
beings who, like their ancestors before the 
fali, lack the knowledge of good and evil 
and are still probationers awaiting ad- 
mission to the community of progressive 
humanity. 

This independence of judgment and boild- 
ness of action are among Obregén’s most 
valuable assets. It is furthermore fair to 
add that on the whole he has maintained 
his ground under the heaviest pressure put 
upon him by enemies invested with power 
and by circumstance apparently destined to 
pulverize him. 

An incident is worth noting here which 
brings out in sharp relief some of the less 
known traits of Obreg6n and Carranza. A 
hot controversy was raging in a historic 
assembly—the Constituent Congress of 
Querétaro—over the right of certain indi- 
viduals to take their seats there as depu- 
ties. Three years previously they had been 
members of a political party called the 
Renovators, and the crime which incapaci- 
tated them to represent the people was 
their notorious complicity in Huerta’s 
usurpation. It was they who had legalized 
the lawless act by which he had ousted 
Madero from the presidency and taken 

ion of his seat. Their conduct had 
been publicly characterized as treason and 
they themselves condemned to death by 
Carranza himself on two different occa- 
sions. Capital punishment thereforeawaited 
them 

But shortly before the Constituent Con- 
gress was elected the First Chief changed 
his mind for reasons of his own and eagerly 
advocated their admission. Nor was that 
all. He actually asserted that far from 
being traitors or the accomplices of trai- 
tors, they were first-class patriots, for if 
they remained in Huerta’s cabinet, aiding 
and abetting the usurper, they had done 
this solely in compliance with his own 
express but secret directions which he had 
given for the purpose of obstructing Huerta 
and his government. 


The Binding Link 


This was indeed a sensational statement, 
which definitely placed Carranza’s reputa- 
tion for honesty between the upper and the 
nether millstones. Thereupon, Obregén, 
who at that time was War Minister, indited 
a letter to the Constituent Congress at- 
tacking the attitude of the First Chief and 
of those who abetted him, appealing to the 
conscience of the nation and convicting 
Carranza of unveracity by his own solemn 
decrees. He informed the congress that no 
such secret instructions could have been 
given, because Carranza himself condemned 
those men to death after the commission of 
the acts laid to their charge. Moreover, if 
it were true that those men had indeed 
played the treacherous part ascribed to 
them, first collaborating with Huerta for 
half a year against Madero and then plot- 
ting against Huerta in virtue of secret 
instructions from Carranza, they were rec- 
reant betrayers of the nation, of Madero 

and also of Huerta. Their treason therefore 
was triple. 

“This,” he adds, “proves that those in- 
dividuals can be used to advantage as 
elements of treason, and their antecedents 
warrant us in assuming that at present they 
are merely feigning to be working with 
Sefior Carranza, but are really acting under 
instructions from other sources.” 

“Men,” he concluded, ‘“‘may be muti- 
lated and sacrificed for principles, but 
principles must not be mutilated or sacri- 
ficed for men.” 

The Turks have a saying which some- 
times holds good even beyond their fron- 
tiers, that if you are bent on speaking the 
truth you must first put your foot in the 
stirrup and be ready to bolt. In Mexico 
under Carranza’s rule that maxim was 





37 


sound. Obregdén accordingly expected that 
this letter would produce ‘such a breach 
between him and Carranza that he could 
no longer remain in office, and in anticipa- 
tion of the rupture had ready in his pocket 
his offer of resignation. But the president, 
to whom he communicated the fact, was 
apprehensive of the results of his secession 
and refused to let him go. The matter of 
the Renovators, however, was settled in 
the approved Cabrera-Carranza style. The 
president's son-in-law, Candido Aguilar, 
appeared in congress to announce the fate- 
ful tidings that the foreign invader was on 
Mexican soil, and to exhort the deputies 
not to waste precious time at such a critical 
conjuncture in wrangling over mere per- 
sonalities, but to unite patriotically with 
all citizens of good will, and much else to 
the same effect; whereupon the postulants 
were admitted by acclamation to take their 
seats. 

In the cabinet Obreg6n had considered 
himself as a binding link between honest 
citizens and the Carranza administration, 
and also as a moderating force within the 
latter. How slender was the part he 
played in this second capacity is obvious 
from what has already been written. That 
he continued to hold the triumphant revo- 
lutionaries together will not be denied, 
although the historian will probably not 
hesitate to award the principal credit or 
blame for the stability of Carranza’s gov- 
ernment to President Wilson's course of 
action and inaction. 


Obregén’'s High Influence 


Obregén now took a gloomy, or rather 
realistic, view of the situation. The fear of 
a party split was superseded by the danger 
of national gangrene. The administration 
lacked a program, a policy and a moral 
purpose, and seemed averse to adopting 
any. Abuses were growing one might say 
in direct ratio to the increase in the number 
and power of their beneficiaries, until in 
Carranza’s camp it had become impossible 
to discover any traces of the patriotic 
cause without making abstraction from the 
First Chief and his lieutenants, together 
with the rank and file, and then putting 
forth a vigorous effort of the imagination 
True, Obregén had noticed many backslid- 
ings and reprehensible practices when tak- 
ing office the year before; but he then had 
to choose, as he believed, between a gov- 
ernment still very imperfect but capable of 
discharging several of its functions, and 
downright anarchy. These alternatives 
having already disappeared, he turned a 
deaf ear to Carranza’s suasive entreaties 
and withdrew to his home in Sonora. 

Looking back upon Obregén’s activity 
during the intensely dramatic period which 
now came to an end with his retirement 
from public life, what especially strikes the 
unbiased onlooker is that the consistent 
motive of his various activities was a high 
moral purpose, sometimes a little difficult 
to recognize athwart the dust and gore and 
smoke of battles or the fog of politics, but 
ever present, working steadily if subtly, 
drawing him on to the final goal. In mat 
ters of right, veracity and justice he was 
the conscience of his country. In the 
practical sphere he strove to turn interest 
and enterprise into new and useful chan- 
nels. But despite his intentions, endeavors 
and unquestioned success, he now stood in 
the most trying of all the critical situations 
of his eventful life. 

His strong and attractive personality, 
quite apart from his brilliant success as the 
real chief of the revolutionary movement 
and from his less resonant labors as mod- 
erator in the cabinet, exercised a potent 
and moralizing effect on many of his con- 
temporaries, and more particularly on the 
younger generation. Happily this in- 
fluence, which is now more dominant than 
ever, fell in with the humanizing mood that 
has gradually come over some of the ac- 
credited spokesmen of various nations as 
a consequence of the moral exhaustion 
produced by the World War. A fervent 
and unflagging desire to harmonize right 
with fact, to infuse into private enterprise 
and public duty high social aims and moral 
meaning, and to combine remote interests 
now scattered throughout the world, con 
tributed the animating force of most of his 
activities. 

But those high-pitched preoccupations 
did not dull the keenness of his interest in 
the minor details of the everyday life of the 
community. What is noteworthy and re- 
freshing is the care with which he studied 
and the pains he took to remedy every 





38 


abuse that was brought to his notice. A 
trivial instance of this—one of many and 
valuable only as a token of the bent of his 
disposition—may fitly find a place here. 

In the capital city furious driving was, as 
it still is, the cause of the death or mutila- 
tion of an appalling number of pedestrians 
and others who cannot be said to have con- 
tributed by negligence to bring about the 
mishap to which they fell victims. Nor is 
it possible to abate the crime—for crime it 
certainly isso long as the guardians of the 
law connive at the breaking of the law by 
officials and the wealthy, and fine those 
who strictly obey the traffic regulations. 
Now one day General Obreg6n, then War 
Minister, when driving in the principal thor- 
oughfare, was arrested by a rustic police- 
man and taken to the police station. The 
simple-minded Indian who apprehended 
him knew who he was, and apologized pro- 
fusely for his procedure, but pleaded strict 
orders recently issued and his fear of the 
consequences if he disobeyed them. The 
general's chauffeur protested, but was 
speedily silenced by his master, who went 
to the police station and waited patiently 
there for some twenty minutes among a 
crowd of delinquents in an evil-smelling 
room until his case could be heard. When 
it came before the official in charge, not 
only was the offense forthwith condoned, 
hut the wretched policeman who had ar- 
rested the minister was roundly abused and 
dismissed for failing to display the censid- 
eration due to a high official. 

Thereupon Obregén, who had thereto- 
fore played but a passive part in the pro- 
cee edings, said: 

This policeman has done his duty and 
deserves to be encouraged, not punished. 
You and your chief issued orders for the 
purpose of having them executed, and this 
man carried them out faithfully. I doubt 
whether you will find two per cent of his 
comrades bold enough to follow his ex- 
ample. Is he worthy of chastisement for 
this sc. upulous discharge of a distasteful 
duty? Is it fair to him or to the police 
force to teach them to discriminate be- 
tween privileged and unprivileged citizens 
instead of between lawbreakers and the 
law-abiding? Your words and acts are 
demoralizing, and I will see that they are 
dealt with as such. The policeman is a con- 
scientious official, and as his exemplary con- 
duct has brought him unmerited censure and 
threats, I give him this money as a token 
that the threats will not be executed and 
that the continued performance of his duty 
in the same spirit will lead to his promo- 
tion.” And he handed a gold piece of 
twenty pesos to the delighted Indian. 

The other trait in Obreg6n’s career dur- 
ing those stirring years is the leniency with 
which he judged and treated men who were 
unworthy of his support. In some cases, it 
is true, as in that of the First Chief, he was 
guided by extrinsic considerations. Besides, 
he was constrained to use such human ma- 
terials as were available, and this is one of 
those dire necessities which inspire one at 
times with misgivings for the future. 


Organizing the Farmers 


Doubtless Carranza at the outset played 
a useful rdle in the revolution as a rallying 
center. But gifted with just ability enough 
‘o discharge this momentary part and make 
his exit decorously—as Obregén wished 
him to do—he was determined to remain 
on the stage until the curtain should fall 
on the last act of the drama. And he had 
his way, living to see most of his decrees 
fulfilled. As for the sequence of deeds and 
misdeeds which his partisans dignified with 
the name of policy, the historian will 
characterize it as a standing challenge or 
invitation to foreign intervention. For- 
tunately, however, for Carranza and for 
Mexico, President Wilson's idealism was too 
resonant to allow him to overhear either. 

His hopes abated by his discouraging 
experience and the presentiment that the 
First Chief was steering the state ship 
straight toward the rocks, General 
Obreg6n turned over in his mind his 
future plan of action. The considerations 
that weighed with him at first were these: 
If he should remain in the country, 
even though quiescent, he would be ex- 
pected to give at least his name and moral 
support to the chief for whose elevation he 
bore the moral responsibility; whereas if he 
were to make it known that he withheld 
this minimal degree of coépera.:on he 
would at once become an object of perse- 
cution. For Carranza’s maxim was “He 
who is not with me is against me,”’ and he 


THE SATURDAY 


would certainly not shrink from applying 
it to Obregon, whose neutrality woul 
everywhere be construed as merited cen- 
sure. Furthermore, the general, if a fateful 
crisis were precipitated while he was in the 
country, could not disregard the call of 
duty or abandon the cause of public order 
and morality. And as everybody knew 
this, his presence, in however private a 
capacity, would always be a stimulus to 
political friends and a menace to their ad- 
versaries. In a word, his stay in Mexico 
might lead to a renewal of the recent 
troubles, and as his country sorely needed 
peace, he was ready to make the painful 
sacrifice and emigrate. He finally decided 
to settle in South America, and began to 
shape his plans accordingly. 

This decision came as a stunning blow 
to Obregé6n’s supporters, who had given of 
their best to purchase stable peace and 
general betterment for their fellow citizens. 
They aut that until the new danger was 
removed the one man capable of exorcising 
it could not in conscience let the country 
face it alone. It was as much his duty to 
remain as it had been his duty to take up 
arms against Orozco. Obregén yielded to 
the force of argument, gave up his plan of 
voluntary exile and set himself to found a 
syndicate of farmers in the states of Sonora 
and Sinaloa. The object of this association 
was so to regulate the exportation of chick 
peas that the crisis which menaced the 
growers from the practice of carrying on 
the business through numerous separate 
channels might be permanently warded off. 


Visiting the United States 


That scheme, like all those which he con- 
ceived and handled, he wrought out to a 
very satisfactory issue, and in prosecuting 
it completed his knowledge, already ex- 
tensive, of the subsidiary branches of agri- 
cultural industry. It was during this period 
that he invented a seed-sowing machine 
which is still in use and demand, and 
which would, it is affirmed, have been dis- 
tributed over a much wider area had it not 
been for the strange turns given to the 
political kaleidoscope by Don Venustiano. 
Whatever undertaking Obregén set his 
hand to, the work seemed always to out- 
strip the workman. 

I have his authority for saying that his 
retirement into private life was intended 
to be final, and that among the arguments 
that moved him to renounce his scheme of 
emigrating, the prospect of being intrusted 
later on with the unenviable task of clean- 
ing the Augean stables of Mexican politics 
had no place. But circumstance is stronger 
than the will of man. 

The management of the farmers’ syndi- 
cate left him considerable free time, part 
of which he resolved to utilize for the pur- 
pose of becoming acquainted with the 
great North American republic, of which 
he had seen but a small section along the 
frontier states. This second visit marked 
an epoch in his life. The impressions he 
gathered during its all too brief duration 
were bracing, lasting and fruitful. 

Fortunately General Obregén, unlike the 
average traveler, is endowed with the right 
disposition for seeing a new country. His 
mind is a highly sensitive film. Both 
his theory of international converse and his 
powers of observation and assimilation 
make him an ideal traveler. He leaves his 
own and his country’s weights, measures 
and prejudices at the frontier and strives 
to see the foreign race as it is; to judge it 
by its own standards with no pretension 
to condemn, deride, or even pardon, but 
only to understand and learn. For him 
differences of language, religion, customs, 
possess no deciding significance, being the 
outcome of local conditions over which the 
inhabitants of a country have no control. 
He knows that a Slav becomes a patriotic 
German when bred and educated in Leipsic 
or Karlsruhe; a Christian girl lives and 
dies a fairly devout Moslem when kidnaped 
and brought to the pasha’s harem as a 
child; and he has had officers in his army 
who, although of European parentage, are 
thoroughly Mexican. The only differences 
among peoples and individuals that deserve 
to count are those revealed by the one 
true standard of human worth—moral 
character; and these are independent of 
political and geographical frontiers. All 
other distinctions are conventional, and on 
conventional themes ‘‘ There were never in 
the world,” as Montaigne puts it, “two 
opinions alike.” 

**My journey through the United States,” 
General Obreg6én remarked to me, “taught 


EVENING POST 


me much that was new and confirmed 
several conclusions which I had reached 
independently. It is impossible not to ad- 
mire the initiative and perseverance of the 
population, and not to feel keyed up by the 
marvelous fruits of its exertions. If we 
could but engraft those qualities on our 
people, the Mexico of the future would 
occupy a desirable position in the van of 
progressive nations. 

“One of the withering blights of civiliza- 
tion has its source in ple’s utter igno- 
rance of each other. They are constantly 
misjudging each other’s characters and 
misinterpreting each other’s acts, because 
they make to themselves caricatures in- 
stead of true pictures of foreign races. And 
out of this distorting medium spring the 
fierce hatred, the irrational fear, the con- 
stant distrust which estrange one from 
the other and ultimately bring about san- 
guinary conflicts. As an individual cannot 
be thoroughly understood apart from the 
community of which he is a member, 
neither can a nation be comprehended 
apart from the life of the whole human 
race 

“Now that source of misconceptions, 
jars and strife must be dried up as a condi- 
tion sine qua non of the establishment of 
genuine human intercourse. But who will 
undertake the task? Diplomatists? A 
diplomatist usually lives in a golden cage. 
He knows people, but ignores the people. 
Even statesmen are wont to make merely 
yartial surveys and to take short views. 
er many are there among them who pos- 
sess the courage—for even to think soundly 
requires courage—to visualize their own 
country as an integral part of the pro- 
gressive human race and to weigh its 
temporary interests against the larger and 
permanent duties? 

“Unhappily there are no special in«‘itu- 
tions anywhere intrusted with the task of 
disseminating correct ideas about foreign 
nations and generating feelings of brother- 
hood among them. Well, it is high time to 
found some such bodies. In the meanwhile, 
it is part of my plan to send the most 
promising youths in the republic to com- 
plete their education abroad, so that when 
they return they may become earnest 
apostles of this gospel of universal fellow- 
ship which should and will displace the 
pharisaical gratitude which so many of the 
world’s races and communities profess at 
not being like their neighbors. The money 
requisite for this work will be well spent. 
On the other hand, I hope to bring into the 
country a number of steady, hard-working 
foreigners who will serve as leaven for the 
backward masses of our people.” 


Troublous Questions 


“Formerly the unity of religious belief 
was appealed to as a means of drawing 
races and peeples together. You know as 
well as I do how short-lived was its success. 
To-day metaphysical ideas have no such 
hold on the masses. Neither have the in- 
volved clauses of treaties. Some people 
still profess to believe in their efficacy. But 
what is the use of a treaty of perpetual 
friendship between two peoples who hate 
each other or who ascribe nefarious designs 
one to the other? What would you think of 
a marriage between a youth and a girl 
whose mutual dislike was profound? Would 
the marriage service ~roduce a miraculous 
effect and make them iove each other until 
death? 

“What we need most of all is mutual 
acquaintanceship and the capacity to 
discern, under differences of languages, re- 
ligions, customs and traditions, those en- 
during spiritual energies and instincts that 
make us all brothers. If we accomplish 
this, justice and equity will one day govern 
a world. If we fail, militarism will get 
the upper hand and civilization go to the 
wall. In the latter contingency, Mexico’s 
lot would be calamitous. All my hopes and 
concrete plans are based on the assumption 
that justice, friendliness and morality will 
get the upper hand.” 

Here, as in most of his conceptions and 
schemes to realize them, Obreg6n displays 
a faculty which is neither reason only nor 
imagination, but might aptly be termed 
imaginative reason. 

Thus over and above the ordinary effect 
of foreign travel—the fuller appreciation 
and warmer love of one’s native land— 
there was another: He fell a-pondering on 
the causes which hindered his fellow coun- 
trymen from achievit.« any of the grandiose 
agricultural, commercial or industrial feats 
which stood to the credit of the citizens 


January 1,192! 


of the United States, despite the advan- 
tages—in many respects superior—which 
Nature has bestowed on Mexico. The ex- 
ternal hindrances needed no study, being 
patent to all. Unrest, insecurity, destruc- 
tiveness and moral exhaustion, the effects 
of protracted civil strife, furnished an ade- 
quate explanation of some of the obstacles 
to progress. But were there none others? 
Is there a sinister flaw deeply embedded in 
the soul of the Mexican people? 

And coming to concrete examples: The 
land in large districts of Chihuahua, Sonora, 
Sinaloa is in some cases identical with 
that of the most fertile districts of Cali- 
fornia, and in others it is superior, while 
conditions for reclaiming and cultivating 
it are the same. 

Whence then the enormous difference in 
the results? 

Again, how does it happen that Mexican 
agricultural laborers are employed in the 
United States and paid as much as four 
and five dollars a day to raise crops which 
their own country could produce in even 
greater abundance? Why are industrial 
firms in the United States able to manufac- 
ture out of Mexican raw materials goods 
which are then imported into Mexico and 
sold at a profit there? If Mexico possesses 
the crude stuffs, the workmen, the water 
power and can utilize all three more 
cheaply than the United States, how comes 
it that her people fail to utilize them and 
are contented to pay an immense tribute 
to their northern neighbors who grow rich 
while Mexicans remain poor? 


Diagnosing Mexico's Case 


If Mexico is blessed with natural wealth 
to an incalculable extent; produces min- 
erals valued at more than three million 
pesos a year; oil wells—actually ex- 
plored—whose potential capacity is esti- 
mated at more than half a billion barrels 
annually, while the unexplored wells are 
believed to contain thousands of times 
more; if its forests yield the finest timber 
in the world in vast quantities; if it is 
endowed with all climates; has vast tracts 
of the most fertile soil in the world; if its 
rivers abound in excellent fish and its 
orchards in luscious fruits; if it could read- 
ily support a population of two hundred 
millions, as many experts aver, whence 
comes the blight that has stricken most of 
its sixteen million inhabitants with the 
pinch of sempiternal hunger, squalor and 
disease? Why is it that such of its wealth 
as is liquid would have lain undeveloped 
had it not been explored and handled by 
onepens foreigners whose very presence 
was childishly resented by Carranza and his 
environment? Are the peoples of Mexico 
suffering from} lack of initiative or lack 
of perseverance or both? And when the 
diagnosis has been ascertained, is there a 
remedy available? Above all, can the peo- 
ple endure it? 

Those were some of the questions to 
which Obregén’s visit to the States im- 
parted painful urgency. He mused on 
them for long and discussed them with 
others. Finally he completed his diagnosis 
and thought out a remedy—the most 
efficacious remedy that a statesman and 
ruler who can deal only with actions, not 
with character, is competent to prescribe. 
Not the least of its advantages is that it 
treats the various evils as symptoms of a 
single malady, and the problem as one and 
indivisiole. The various aspects of the 
comprehensive reforms which he contem- 
plates have been unfolded to me by their 
author. In due time they are to be drafted 
as parliamentary bills and later on, one 
hopes, passed as state laws. Some of them 
are simple and mild, others heroic; but one 
and all they appear to me to. be exactly 
what the country needs and what alone can 
extricate it—if statute laws and a sound 
educational system can extricate it—from 
its present lamentable condition. On this 
matter I pro to dwell more fully in a 
subsequent chapter. 

Dur:ng that memorable journey to the 
United States General Obregén, when 
passing some of the numerous stations in 
which representatives of applied science 
were studying important agricultural, min- 
ing and other problems which will shortly 
confront his own country, might have re- 
flected that half a century previously Mex- 
ico possessed an agricultural department 
considerably superior to anything of which 
the United States at that time disposed. 
The general’s attention, however, was di- 
rected principally to industrial enterprises 

(Concluded on Page 40) 





_ 


— 


oP peerahie rs wie 


or 





meee 





THE SATURDAY 





| i Ht Hit i MALAI Ati 





EVENING POST 










1918 City 
2,760,043 
square feet 
of Barrett 

Specification 

Roofs 








87% of all buildings erected by Turner Construction Co. 
during 16 years are covered with Barrett Specification Roofs— 





TURNER FOR CONCRETE 


TURNER CONSTRUCTION COMPANY 


244 MADISON AVENUE wostom 


Oct. 10th, 1919. 
THE BARRETT COMPANY, New York. 

Herewith are the five composite drawings made to 
scale and showing truthfully all the reinforced concrete 
industrial buildings erected by our Company in the seven- 
teen ycars from 1902 to December 31st, 1918, both inclusive. 

It will interest you to know that the roofs of all these 
Five Hundred and Nineteen Buildings have a total area 
of 8,642,818 square feet, of which approximately 7,571,108 
square feet, or 87.6 per cent., were covered with Barrett 
Specification Roofs. In reality, therefore, these Turner 
Cities, as these drawings are known, make most excellent 
Barrett Cities. The use of Barrett Specification roofing 
as you know has been practically a stundard with us for 
years. 

On these 519 buildings, the total cost of which would 
exceed Ninety Millions of Dollars, we have dealt with 94 
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These Cities are not only an excellent endorsement for 
“Turner for Concrete,” but they are, it seems to us, an 
exceptional indication of the general merit of Barrett 
Specification Roofs 

Very truly yours, 


‘finy a 


JPHP_ ES 





eureaco 
om weeny pr aoe. onte 
oe ceaeese New Yorn pirreeueen 












F experience in constructing permanent build 

ings counts for anything, surely the great 
Turner Construction Company of New York, 
builders of the vast Concrete “Cities” pictured 
here, should kzow how to select a permanent roof. 

The figures quoted tell their own story. This 
great construction company, the 270 owners 
for whom they erected these 519 concrete build 
ings, and the 94 prominent architects and engi 
neers, united in choosing Barrett Specification 
Roofs for over 87% of the total roof area. 

Could there be more conclusive proof than this 
of the durability, economy and general superi- 
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The Surety Bond Guarantee 


Yet the owner of a Barrett Specification Roof 


need not rely upon even this practically unanimous 
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Note that the 1918 City Paget at the top 
and almost doubled the Nine Year City. 


Service 1s available, may be so bonded for 20 or 
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Important Notice 

The Barrett Specification Type “AA” 20-Year Bonded 
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Where the character of the building does not justify a 
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| egos y <> 








New York Chicag Philad ston 
Cleveland Cincinnati i burg 
Birmingham Kansas City M , De 
Syracuse wat f t 
Salt Lake City Bangor Washington hnstown 
Youngstown Milwawker ri t 
Latrot Ret i t ' t 
Omaha H I 
1HE BARRETT COMPANY, 1 
Mort " ront 


t. John, N. B ‘Halifax, N 





Nine Year City (1902-10 inclusive} 
feet of 


page e Five Year City 
















40 


(Concluded from Page 38) 
that interested the army, for the world was 
then hypnotized by the Great War. Had 
it been otherwise, he would have admired 
the steady, silent, efficacious work that is 
being accomplished at the various stations 
where untiring research and painstaking 
experiment are shaping the conditions for 
great industrial enterprise and far-reaching 


“He will not long be here. All that he 
does he does quickly,” said old Maeeta, 
whom I met in the garden. She was speak- 
ing of the American. 

“ He is lining his saddlebags with golden 
fleece while he stays,” said I, my speech 
taking a poetic turn. 

Maeeta laughed, and then I heard other 
soft laughter from the shadows behind the 
drawn curtains. 

The orders for steel, which had to be 
forged to fit the papers, would take at least 
one hundred days; but the order for 
cement, which could be filled at once in 
Far Remesch, would be back in three 
weeks. When I heard that the Red Handed 
had begun to look immediately for men I 
smiled, for always the peasants have been 
promised payment for labor in our coun- 
try, so that they do not hear ra any 
longer, but stay in their little fields. Of 
course they come rather than to be beaten; 
but surely, I thought, this white man can- 
not put himself in the place of the Amir, so 
there was hope for a halt in his purposes. 
Indeed, after a week's absence in the coun- 
try round the capital, the American came 
back with but six men, and they were in- 
firm with years, save one who was little 
better than a boy and had a running sore 
in his hand. 

To Maeeta, in the garden, I pointed out 
the five bent ones and the boy, toiling over 
the hole'in the ground where a pillar was to 
rise, saying: “Surely there will be swift 
changes in the garden, Maeeta, with such 
giants coming in from the country.” 

“Hah!” she answered. ‘‘ Men will come 
to his bidding, and not men alone.”” And 
again I heard the soft laughter from the 
shadows. 

Six days passed, and the old men and the 
boy iboned Then they were paid in silver 
money by the Red Handed and sent away 
for a day's rest to their own homes. When 
they came back each brought a young man 
with him, and the labor went on for six 
days more, and again they were paid and 
given a day's rest. When the cement came 
twenty men were there to handle it, and 
every day now others were applying to la- 
bor. Some were kept and some were sent 
away against the time that the steel 
girders should arrive; but the old men who 
came first were not sent away to save the 
Amir expense, but given lighter work in- 
stead; and the boy with the sore hand was 
given pencil and paper to make marks on 
for each hour that each man labored. The 
great abutments were laid on either side of 
the river, and from the window the Amir 
watched with shining eyes. Still there 
were many days left before the steelwork 
could possibly be delivered. Surely now, 
I thought, this devastator will disband the 
army that has come to devour us out of 
palace and grounds; but the Red Handed 
came to the Amir, saying: “They were 
hard to get together, chief—a good gang 
like this. Besides, they’re getting to 
understand me.” 

“What would you have?” 
asked. 

“Why, man, that serai of yours is a 
curse. I didn’t see the Augean stables, but 
they couldn't possibly have anything on 
your serai. I pretty near started to walk 
back to Far Remesch the night I landed 
and you put me up there.” 

“You should have been brought te the 
palace at once, but I was indisposed,” said 
the Amir 

“I'll forgive you for that, but we'll start 
in and clean it up. We'll carry the topsoil 
from the corral to your gardens—make 
‘em blossom like the rose, as Hiram here 
would say. Also we'll put some nice big 
rock boxes underneath to keep the earth 
dry where the animals stand.” 

When this was finished there were still 
a number of weeks before the steelwork 
could come, and the Red Handed came 
into the presence of the Amir, saying: 
“You need to get outdoors more, Amir. 
That little car which the British sent you 


the Amir 


THE SATURDAY 


mercantile venture; in Ohio, by the staff 
of the oil station there; in Montana and 
Arizona, by specialists in copper mining; 
in Salt Lake City and San Francisco, by 
experts on silver and gold mining; in 
Minnesota, where the technical methods of 
treating iron are being studied; in Florida, 
where white phosphates are scientifically 
analyzed; and in Seattle, where skilled 


EVENING POST 


professors are busied perfecting hydro- 
electrical processes. 

But if he did not actually visit those 
laboratories and experimental workshops 
where science is being made tribu_ary to 
economic advancement, he heard of them, 
obtained an insight into their achievements 
and perceived that many of the urf nt 
problems with which his own country i 


THE RED HANDED 


(Continued from Page 9) 


for a present when they wanted to establish 
a toll station in the pass—it’s an all-right 
little red car. I’ve put it in shape, but you 
haven't any roads. You need a few miles 
and my men need the work.” 

So with broken stone they raised the road 
in and out of the capital to the garden 
walls—more than fifty men bending to the 
will of this one man; not to his will alone, 
but to the whim and slightest wish. The 
Amir marveled at the industry of his 
eople, thinking that their virtue had long 
Son concealed from him. And then the 
palace walls were to mend, but the white 
man was often away from his men these 
late days—out on the road to Far Remesch, 
trying one after another of the Amir’s 

hyber ponies, watching, always watching, 
for his caravan of steel. 

Then came the night when I saw a dark 
figure, to my eyes much like the figure of 
the Red Handed, standing among the thick 
trunks of the climbing roses that cover the 
verandas of the seraglio. From the window 
behind the leaves I heard the voice that 
could be no other than the Circassian girl, 
Mirsamee’s; tonesfrom her that I had never 
heard before, because her voice was always 
sorrowing. Then I could not be sure if it 
were a lizard I heard, or the chuckle of the 
Red Handed, though I should have learned 
all had it not been for old Maeeta raising a 
scream that I was spying on her women- 
folk. To stop her outcry I had to make off. 

When the hundred days had passed a 
messenger came in from Far Remesch say- 
ing that the steelwork could not start for 
another fortnight. It was then I saw the 
face of the Red Handed go white and long, 
and he did not leave his room for three 
days; but all the while the fifty men 
worked tirelessly, repairing the walls, like 
children preparing a great surprise for the 
return of their father. Once again, at the 
hour of the first darkness, I saw the tall 
figure standing in the shadows where the 
ancient rose vines climbed, but I could 
not go near because old Maeeta was 
abroad ready to scream at my approach. 

Such was the nature of the dark days 
which had befallen the palace of our 
Prince. A runner came at lest, saying that 
the shipment of steel pieces had been 
started, elephants carrying the heavy gird- 
ers and camels the lighter ones. Several 
days after that came the word that changed 
all our lives: that robbers had descended 
upon the caravan and despoiled it, running 
off the elephants and camels and leaving 
the iron pieces fallen to the road, many of 
them tossed over into the defiles. It was 
then that I heard the foreigner laugh softly 
when he came into audience. 

“Now don’t start wringing your hands,” 
he said to the Amir. “ You want a bridge, 
allright. SodolI. But we want the moun- 
tains cleaned out first. I need seventy 
rifles, twenty rounds each, and a whole lot 
of horses and camels. I'll fix those moun- 
tains so we can get our bolts and screws 
through when we order ‘em.”’ 

Within four hours the first of the Red 
Handed’s men filed out of the big gate 
His laborers were now seventy in numb« 
for the iron work to begin. Far out from 
the capital, in the mountains, the seventy 
were divided into several small caravans, 
the first of which was attacked by robbers 
in the throat of the pass. It appears that 
this first party made no resistance until the 
robbers were actually among them, Then 
with a great ery they drew out the rifles 
concealed in their packs and began to fire, 
at the same time fleeing back the way they 
had come. The robbers followed, but en- 
countered the second of the caravans—and 
the third— until the tide was turned against 
them. Then the drive into the mountains 
began—a drive that continued straight to 
the robbers’ stronghold. 

Still the Red Handed was not satisfied, 
but with explosives he broke in the caves 
where the mountaineers were hiding —until 
the few who survived came crawling out, 
bringing their treasure, which the American 


accepted, demanding also the elephants 
and the camels and the steel pieces. Some 
of the elephants had been sold into other 
captivity, but there were many camels 
other than those which had belonged to the 
steel caravan. Now the robbers were made 
to come forth and find the pieces of the 
Amir’s bridge. Sometimes it took a whole 
day to bring up one piece from the khud 
into which it had fallen, and many days 
passed before the beasts were finally loaded 
and the start made back to the Amir’s 
capital. 

ow it is true that the labor men re- 
turned with the whole bridge, save 0: 2 
piece, a key piece—and into the p«:.-¢ 
grounds they came, singing, bringing ¢: 
treasures. The pieces of steel were carried 
to the river banks and placed in rows and 
counted and measured. Once more it was 
verified that the order was correctly filled, 
save the one missing key piece, a very big 
one. 

One day as I looked over the great 
frames, studying them, the Red Handed 
caught me by the shoulders, saying: 
“Hiram, what have we got lying round 
here in the way of steel?”’ 

“Nothing,” said I. “‘ There is nothing of 
ironwork in this country.” 

“If that’s true, we're haid up for a 
bridge, Hiram.” 

“Tt is true, sahib.” 

All the time he was figuring under his 
eyebrows and chewing his pencil and 
scratching the hair of his head above his 
ear. 

“Hiram, it ain’t healthy to be so cock- 
sure,” he said at last. “‘Come on, and we'll 
go and see the Old Man. Maybe he’s got a 
watch charm or a shoe buckle or something 
of the kind.” 

And thus, regardle:, of the hour which 
was the Amir’s for . »akfasting with his 
men children, the Red tianded led the way 
to the palace door, demanding audience. 

“You haven’t been good and dutiful to 
me lately, Prince,’’ he began with severe 
ace. 

“Ask him what I can do?” the Amir 
said quickly, when I had interpreted. 

Even as I spoke Mr. Heckling thumped 
the table with his bare fist. 

“You haven’t been doing what I told 
vou, chief. I’m going to punish you too, 
tear me?” 

“Ask him what I may 
quickly,”’ the Amir implored. 

“You haven't been getting outdoors 
enough!” 

“T will! Ob, I will!” 

“Here I got your little red buggy and 
made a road for you, and you won’t ride 
in it!” 

“TI will ——” 

“No, you won't! Because I’m going to 
melt up that little red buggy to get my key 
piece for the bridge!” 

“Oh, do, Eminent!” said the Amir. 

Then the furnace was made half under- 
ground, and the fires began filling the 
Amir’s garden with smoke. 

For a day and night we saw the Red 
Handed, naked to the waist, wielding a 
sledge too big for any of hismen. And the 
women from the windows of the seraglio 
watched him in the red firelight, the great 
sledge rising and falling. 

When the key piece was partly done, one 
end fashioned, the American ordeved the 
fires to be drawn, saying, “ And now, I will 
really be paid!”’ 

Straightway he left the furnace and the 
forge, telling his men to rest, and went to 
his quarters in the palace. ! was soon 
called for and told to announce to the 
Amir that Mr. Heckling desired audience 
as soon as he washed the smoke out of his 
eyes. From the soft laughter, as he scraped 
his chin, I knew there was danger; but 
little I knew of the nature or the extent of 
that danger and shame. 

“Oh, the bridge is all right,”” ie said to 
the Amir. “Two or three days + ore at the 
forge and I'll have that key made. After 


do—again 


January 1,192! 


soon have to cope are identical with those 
which its progressive neighbors have al- 
ready tackled and solved successfully. 
And he also knows—-the representatives of 
Texas, New Mexico and Arizona have 
assured him—that the results which cost 
them so much time, labor and money are 
entirely and gratuitously at the service of 
his country. - 


i 
| 


that it’s only a matter of assembly—that’s 
the fun of the show—all parts numbered 
and made to fit, Amir. Oh, yes, you'll be 
out in your bunnit and shawl to see the 

ieces lock into each other. 3ut, Amir, if 

should die right now, there isn’t a man 
in your principality that could make the 
bridge stand up.”’ 

I placed this to the Amir, begging him to 
be calm. 

“The Amir inquires for the state of your 
health, Mr. Heckling.”’ 

“It’s good,” the Red Handed said. “It’s 
good, but unreliable. I’m in a queer state 
here, little chief. You and I’ve got to get 
together on it.” 

And now the great red hand was on his 
heart, and I began to smell fire in the walls, 
as our saying is. These are his words and 
they are many: 

“Rufie’s been round a whole lot, Amir— 
yes, a whole lot; and so far he’s always 
walked alone. But the ways stretched out 
ahead don’t look any more like a bridle 

ath to me. They look like a regular road 
or span and yoke. It’s in vour house, 
Amir, she’s living now.” 

Interpreting, I saw the yellow cast come 
to the golden brown of the Amir’s rounded 
cheek; then the green tint of the fine oil of 
the olives. 

“Don’t take it hard, old man. You'll 
never miss her. It’s little Mirsamee.”’ 

He stopped and looked hard at the 
Amir, and then to my face, where I trust 
he met rebuke. 

“Say, you two look like cholera to me. 
I’ve only talked to her through the lattice, 
mister. That little white girl from the 
Black Sea—she’s lonely, Amir. She says 
you've been great to her, treated her just 
like a little girl, only she’s lonesome.” 

The Amir appeared to hear, but his 
tongue did not move. Still the shameless 
one talked on: 

“Of course, I hesitate to use any pres- 
sure, little chief. You and I’ve got on 
fairly well in this building project. We 
could go on a long time without a break— 
barring little Mirsamee. But that ought 
not to be hard. I’ve seen her and she’s seen 
me. It was one of those things that clip. 
I’ve told you before, I don’t like it here in 
your country. I don’t like the climate. I 
don’t like the politics. But that don’t 
matter now. I'll stay along and be your 
prime minister, if I have to—but I’m not 
going away without Mirsamee.” 

Mr. Heckling rolled a cigarette from his 
cloth bag while I made over his speech. 

“Try one, chief.” 

The Amir’s lips moved, but not with 
words. 

“All right. Everyone to his tastes, but 
don’t make a sound in your neck like that. 
Don’t start that now just as you get over 
nursing your hands.” 

Again we heard the soft laugh. 

“Think it over,”’ he said as he turned 
to go. “Only I’m not leaving the pal- 
ace grounds, remember; and about that 
bridge—I agreed to make it for you, but I 
didn’t agree to forge the key piece myself. 
I'll let the rest of that work wait till I hear 
from you.” 

There was long silence after he had gone. 
Then the Amir’s hands came together and 
he murmured, “And no one but him can 
build the bridge!” 

I bowed. 

“It is so—as you say, Illustrious.” 

“He has only talked with her through 
the lattice. She is nothing to me. She has 
only cried since she came to my household. 
I could make a gift of her without shame.” 

“Will the Prince hear his servant?” I 
said. 

“Speak, Ingenious!”’ 

“These laboring men are like an army to 
him, sire. They will obey him. They are 
fat and unafraid. They will further, at the 
word, his most unholy desire—even to be- 
coming prime minister.”’ 

“Speak more!”’ 

(Concluded on Page 43) 











£28 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 1 


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TRADE MARK REG. 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


¢ Paar the baby ...a Plumb! The best axe 
amanever swung. It chops cleaner, faster and 
holds its edge longer than any other axe made. 

The old practice of pounding axes into shape 
by repeated trip hammer blows on a soft steel 
body and then trying to weld e small piece of 
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done away with in the Plumb Plants. 

Axes are forged into form from a single piece of 
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the finished Plumb Axe is full of life, holds its 


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The “ bit” is part of the axe itself—it is the axe 
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No miswelds—so common in the old style 
axes. No battered heads or buckled eyes such as 
you get with the old soft body. Just a high grade 
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See the Plumb name is stamped on the axe, 
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January 1,192! 








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This means that 
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Price $2.00 

















(Concluded from Page 40) 
“The woman is nothing to you—a white 


face that works with many tears. Make 
the gift as you, with such perspicacity, 
suggested. Command him to finish the 
bridge, encouraging as you alone can do, 
until the work is done. Then will come the 
departure, and you will supply the escort 
party to Far Remesch. As he goes over the 
pass to the outer world with this Mirsa- 
mee—alone, save for the escort you have 
chosen, having discharged all the laborers 
because their labors were finished ——- 

“It is worthy of Medu'ullah himself!” 
the Amir cried. ‘“‘Thou hast spoken well, 
Hiram, my Favored from a Child. I shall 
have the escort punish them both as they 
go over the pass—because at that time 
I shall already have the bridge in my 
garden.” 

So it came about that little Mirsamee 
was brought forth from the seraglio and 
given in wedlock to the Red Handed, whom 
she seemed to know like a child of her own, 
though it is true that they had only talked 
before this day with the darkness of eve- 
ning about them and the bars of the locked 
house of the women between their lips. 


And this was the Circassian girl who had 
known but one thing well since she came to 
the Amir; that one thing being to weep. 
And I saw the tinge of olive come to the 
face of our Prince as he saw her happiness, 
and that relaxed look that I knew so well 
as having to do with a plan to punish an 
offender. 

Then the great bridge came up as by 
magic, diminishing the palace; the final 
payments were made, the papers written 
out, and the escort was arranged for the out 
journey. It was my thought that my 
servant, Haider Roorkh, be made meh- 
mandar again, to deal between the Amer- 
ican and the people on the road to Far 
Remesch. The Amir assented, but after he 
had told the American that he was to go, 
Haider Roorkh returned to me in great 
trouble. 

“The white man laughed at me—but 
softly, Hiram Harish Singh,” he said. “It 
is true that he pulled my beard and spoke 
in symbols after this fashion _ 

“Tell me quickly,”’ I said. 

“He spoke of a cross,” said Haider 
Roorkh, “‘of a double cross, saying that I 
would double-cross my own father.” 


SMALL-TO 


By ROBERT QUILLEN 


Competition 


EW men have definite goals. The aver- 

age man has no more definite purpose 
than the desire to get a living. The business 
of getting a living brings him into com- 
petition with his fellows, and he discovers 
that in many instances a gain for himself 
means a loss for another, while his losses 
mean another’s profit. He discovers also 
that the world is intent upon the business 
of getting his money, and will bargain 
shrewdly before parting with money of 
its own. When he is guilty of stupidity 
he is penalized by a loss, and when he 
uses his wits he is rewarded with a profit. 
He plays a hard game in which the win- 
ners are a target and the losers soon for- 
gotten. 

If one would catch fish he goes to a place 
where fish abound. So the man who plays 
the game of getting money interests him- 
self in people who have money. If a man 
calls at your office and, finding you absent, 
calls again and yet again, you feel little 
uneasiness when informed of his visits, for 
experience has taught you that one so per- 
sistent in his attentions is not actuated by 
a desire to give you something, but is seeking 
a profit for himself. It is not snobbishness 
but rather an understanding of opportunity 
that prompts men to court the attention 
of men who have more than themselves 
and give little attention to those who have 
less. 

Will a prospector devote his days to pan- 
ning thankless sand when there is a vein 
of rich ore within his reach? When the 
man who has one thousand dollars is ap- 
proached by one who has but ten, he says 
to himself: ‘“‘This man has designs on my 
purse.”” When he is approached by one who 
has a million dollars, he says to himself: 
‘This man is seeking to use me in some 
particular; I shall be on my guard and 
endeavor to make him pay a price.”” There 
is very little altruism outside of story 
books. 

Now each man plays a game according 
to his caliber. If he lacks confidence in 
himself and is filled with fear, he will envy 
more skillful players, and thus come to 
hate them. To even the score and salve 
his wounded vanity he will cultivate a feel- 
ing of contempt for less skillful players 
a contempt tinged with jealous fear and 
near akin to hate. 

An inferior race is often hated by mem- 
bers of a superior race who are nearest to 
its level. By expression of hate they seek 
to accentuate a contrast that might other- 
wise remain unobserved. Hate is frequently 
no more than a desperate effort to preserve 
self-respect. 

If a player is conscious of a high degree 
of skill he is conscious also of a fellowship 
of excellence that links him with a skillful 
opponent. His desire to beat an opponent 
is not lessened by this fellowship. It is 
rather intensified. But the respect he feels 
for himself, coupled with the knowledge 
that his opponent shares it, encourages the 


fair play men call! chivalry. He does not 
hate because he does not envy. He knows 
himself as good as the best. Nor does he 
hate those who have less skill; he does not 
hate because he does not fear. He has 
climbed to a high place and, being secure 
in his position, feels only a kindly interest 
in the welfare of those who attempt the 
ascent. 

One who has arrived—who has found 
himself and attained the poise that is the 
fruit of a reasonable self-confidence— may 
without affectation be amiable with kings 
or share the peasant’s burden without fear 
of losing caste. 

There is a righteous hate of unclean 
things, and this all clean men share. But 
the hate that is either fear or envy or an 
admixture of fear and envy is unknown to 
strong men who are confi. nt of ultimate 
victory or to men whose superior wit and 
prowess have gained them a place above 
the multitude. 

There is a contempt for filth and cow- 
ardice, and this all respectable men hold in 
common. But a contempt occasioned by 
another’s weakness, whether of purse or 
biceps, wit or will, is not a wholesome 
contempt, but a sop to vanity—an at- 
tempt to glorify oneself by exaggeration 
of another's misfortune. 


Loyalty 


jb quality of loyalty is not strained. 
One cannot, by force of will, make him- 
self loyal to a cause or a country, though 
he may, by force of will, preserve the 
appearance of loyalty and thus avoid the 
penalty earned by those who have the 
courage of their treachery. So one may 
pretend a love he does not feel and a 
righteousness to which he is stranger; but 
pretense is a veneer easily cracked by the 
stress of circumstance, and a disloyal heart 
will in time find a vent for the treason it 
nurtures. 

One cannot be a little loyal and a little 
disloyal. Loyalty demands the whole man. 
Love of country is not the sport of changing 
policies. 

If one is loyal to his country when its 
policies please him and disloyal when its 
policies do not meet with his approval, he 
does not love his country but only himself 
and his opinions. 

When a mother discovers faults in her 
child she accepts the duty of correcting 


them. But her love is not lessened by the 
faults. She does not turn her back on the 


child and encourage enemies who would 
oppress and destroy it. The love that 
prompts her to admonish it will as quickly 
prompt her to give her life for it. 

So one who loves his country will exert 
himself to establish a national ideal of jus- 
tice and liberty, and when thwarted by 
the greed or vice or folly of his fellows will 


THE SATURDAY 


EVENING POST 


“Be at peace! It is not a grievous in 
sult,’’ I told him; “and as to his pulling the 
beard, it was but an affection. The Amir 
has no beard, or it would be pulled. How- 
ever, there will be another mehmandar.” 

Then even the footboards were placed 
upon the bridge, and the Red Handed was 
given audience a last time. 

“IT knew you'd like the bridge, little 
chief,” he said. “Yes, sir, she’s a dandy; 
and the river will take the palace too if it 
takes her; and the new key piece shines up 
just as if she knew she was holding the 
whole thing together, and had been a gas 
buggy once. Hand tooled, she is, that key 
piece, and better stuff than they put in 
bridges as a rule, hey, Hiram? She’s my 
present, sultan—-present for the little key 
piece to the whole works, which I got from 
your boarding school for girls, little 
Mercy-me. Say, chief, I'll never get over 
your kindness in holding her till I got here. 
Yes, we’re going now—starting to-day. I 
never say good-by twice.” 

The Amir spoke and I interpreted. 

“He asked if you have everything for the 
journey, Mr. Heckling; if the bodyguard 


is sufficient and satisfactory.” 





fight for his conception of right, and still 
love his country. He will have his own way 
if he can; but he will not agree that 
treason is the one alternative. 

Each citizen of America has the inalien- 
able right to repeal any law on the statute 
books and pass any number of new ones 
if he can persuade a majority of his fellows 
to his way of thinking. Each alien in 
America has the inalienable right to life, 
liberty and the pursuit of happiness while 
he remembers that he is a guest and 
amenable to the rules of a household in 
which he has no voice 

Minorities have a right to their opinions. 
So, also, have aliens. But they sacrifice 
all other rights who seek by force to impose 
their opinions on a majority. 

A majority is the Government, and the 
Government is the voice of America. 


Temper 


HEN the male gorilla faces danger 

and realizes that he must go to the 
mat with another denizen of the jungle, he 
does not rush headlong to the fray, but 
prudently beats himself upon the chest to 
work up sufficient enthusiasm to insure 
getting the maximum of energy behind his 
punches. He realizes, in his primitive way, 
that a little temper neutralizes a great deal 
of cowardice. 

So two men who have found cause to 
quarrel will exchange hot words and yet be 
persuaded by caution to refrain from blows, 
until one or the other, having gained 
courage from the bellow of his own voice, 
gives rein to his temper and swings a fist 

Temper is inherent in man, but a hair- 
trigger temper is a product of lax disci- 
pline. 

When a small boy discovers that a dis- 
play of temper will serve to win the thing 
that has been denied him, he will cultivate 
temper as a useful servant. When crossed 
in any matter he will lie on the floor and 
kick up his heels and howl. This is not so 
much a display of temper as a display of 
intelligence. If adults could so easily gain 
their ends they would howl vhrough all 
their days. The boy is an efficiency expert 
He is getting results with the least waste of 
energy. 

Demonstrate to him that loss of temper 
pays no profit but insures unpleasant con- 
tact with the business end of a razor strop 
and he will find other means to attain his 
object. 

If a boy contrives unfailingly to have his 
way by the simple expedient of giving his 
temper rein, he will carry the practice with 
him into manhood. When opposed in any 
particular he will open the throttle a little 
and show a flashing eye and reddening 
cheek. If the opposition persists he will 
roar and clear the decks for action. If the 
case seems desperate he may go to the 








43 





“That reminds me, chief—one of the 
things I came to speak about. I'm not 
going to need that bodyguard, mister. You 
see, about fifty of my yay 4 men want to 
go on with me as far as Far Remesch. They 
hint that they won't be popular here when 
I’m gone. 

“T told ’em there was nothing to that, 
but they wouldn't hear of me and Mere 
going on alone. Say, how many times have 
I told you about stroking your hands that 
way? It ain't nice, Amir!’ 

We heard him calling good-by from the 
corridor. I saw the colors change in the 
face of the Amir—the pale gold, the green 
gold, the sickness. And I was thinking of 
his army that had destroyed the robbers, 
going with the Red Handed and the woman 
to Far Remesch. For me there was but one 
brightness, in that he had gone at last. 
And then I saw brightness returning to the 
eyes of the Prince, who rose and hurried 
with quickened steps to the window, look- 
ing out upon the great structure there 
which made the garden and the palace 
look small. 

“But, oh,” 
bridge?” 


LUFF 


length of warning his adversary that he has 
a terrible temper and cannot trust himself 
if driven too far. 

If the adversary is stubbornly bent on 
self-destruction the sequel will depend upon 
the measure of discretion possessed by the 
evil-tempered one. 

For here is a singular thing concerning 
tempers that are uncontrollable: The man 
who has a temper prone to take charge of 
the works on the slightest provocation will 
be easily offended by his children and will 
punish them for the slightest infraction of 
his law. As he beats them his temper wil! 
feed on the violence it has inspired and add 
blow to blow until physical exhaustion 
serves to cool his wrath. When his wife 
does or says anything to displease him his 
temper will slip its leash and threaten her 
with instant destruction. When a man 
smaller than himself dares to oppose him 
his temper will burst into flame and drive 
him almost to the point of madness. When 
he engages in conflict with a man of his own 
caliber and by the fortune of war gains to a 
point of vantage astride the other's abdo- 
men, his temper will burst all bounds and 
impel him to drive blow after blow to eye 
and nose and mouth while the driving is 
good. 

But when the one who opposes him has a 
reputation as a bad man in a ruction or 
stands a head above him or reaches for a 
lethal weapon, the uncontrollable temper 
crawls into a dark corner and falls asleep, 
nor will any method of persuasion prevail 
upon it to appear in public until the coast 
is clear. 

If a great hulk of a man comes seeking a 
quarrel, one possessed of temper may, by 
grave and unhurried speech, cool the great 
one’s wrath and thus avert disaster. Or 
if a man of one’s own size and degree of 
prowess comes seeking a quarrel, one may 
find need of fervid profanity to generate 
sufficient temper to steady his quivering 
knees. But when there is occasion to quar- 
rel with a runt who is without a weapon 
and incapable of inflicting punishment, 
neither soft words nor hard ones can long 
postpone the conflict. The ungovernable 
temper quickly casts aside all restraint and 
rushes forth as a mighty wind to wreck and 
destroy the puny thing that dared to 
rouse It, 

Thus the treatment for an unruly temper 
suggests itself. If discretion will in any 
case keep a temper in bounds, encourage 
the development of discretion by providing 
greater need of it. In the case of a small 
boy apply the back of a hairbrush to the 
seat of trouble at the first appearance of 
temper. In the case of the bellicose adult, 
now more commonly described as a hard 
boiled egg, face the patient calmly and 
discourage his gathering temper by the 
application of a brick to his ear. This treat 
ment, if persistent and conscientious, will 
effect a complete cure in the most desperate 
cases, A hairfrom the dog won't cure the 
bite, but a kick in the ribs will discourage 
the bark. 


he said, “is it not a beautiful 





Murphy 


OF exere) a= 


Motor Car # 
Enamels 


Practically every tenth car 
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| she had always craved. 





| for Jasper. 
| hither and thither by his good heart Jasper 
|} managed to prosper. 


| above taking his Sunday 


| He has 


that either. 


THE SATURDAY 


They say one day 
he looked at her and said: “Well, Sarah, 
we were happily married after all!’’ And 
they say she told somebody that she had 
always known John was a good man if he 
hadn’t been so worried with living. The 
marriage that turns out well is the happy 
marriage, no matter how hard a time the 
two people in it have had bearing with 
each other. 

I had company that night in my heart, 
so many men and women I had known 
seemed to come back with their little good 
deeds to be recorded. As fast as I could set 
down as briefly as possible how Brother 
Hicks, at the age of seventy, waited on his 
bedridden wife, cooked, cleaned and made 
a living for her on a little old rabbit-skin 
farm he had, I would recall someone else 
who had been the patient good man in the 
community where he lived, but who could 
never get on very well with the saints in the 
church because he was so busy defending 
and building up the sinners. 

I had more than a dozen of these little 
tales of honor and cheerful long-suffering 
written before Peter came up and asked 
me what I was doing up so late. I told him 
I had been writing a few letters. You are 
justified in concealing the truth sometimes. 

The next morning I added a few hopeful 
sentences, like the smart paragraphs we see 


| on the editorial page of a newspaper, only 
| they were not smart and they did not bite. 


Good little words sowed in sentences which 
I hoped would come up and grow in the 
minds of those who read them. 

When you are not accustomed to writing 
it wakens you in the night and you get up 


| and put down something that you forgot to 


tell. I did this for a week. I was up and 
down so much with my memories that 
Peter heard me one night and wanted to 
know through the deor between our rooms 
i . was ill. I told him no, that I had heard 
a noise and had risen to see what it was. 
You may be permitted to use a figure of 


| speech sometimes, which is the symbol of 


the truth concealed. The noise I heard was 
of tired feet on a country road long, long 


| ago, when Jasper Wood came in the dead 


hours of the night to get William to go to 
old Tim Herndon, who was dying and had 


| made up his mind to repent if they could 


get a preacher in time to do it. I had for- 
gotten to put Jasper in. He was a rich poor 
man who lived on the Rocky Road circuit. 
He had a hard task making a living because 
he was everybody’s good Samaritan. If 


| a man was in trouble he went to see Jasper 
| about it and stopped him from plowing his 
| corn until he had relieved his mind. If 


anybody wanted something quick he went 
to Jasper and borrowed it, even if he never 
paid it back. If someone was sick he sent 
And in spite of being dragged 


When I had written many pages of this 


| stuff I sent it without a word of explanation 


to the editor of our leading daily paper. 
Nothing happened for two weeks. I en- 
dured the strange suspense of an author. 
My only comfort was that no one knew that 
I was “hair-hung and breeze-shaken,” as 
the old preacher used to say, between the 


| editorial wastebasket and the world of let- 


ters. I still appeared to be the mother I 
had always been to Peter, and nothing else 
Maybe a trifle absent-minded at times, 


| having thought of another good deed that 


I might have put in, or feeling a little de- 
pressed, as no doubt real authors do when 
they fear the dangerously variable weather 
of an editor’s judgments. 

I had lost hope when the third week 
passed and there was no sign of a breach in 
the editorial policy of this paper to publish 
the worst and nothing but the worst that 
was going on. 

One Sunday afternoon Peter, who is not 
paper on the 
Lord’s Day, was in the parlor reading it. 
] was in the dining room helping the maid 
clear the table. Then I heard Peter laugh. 
a laugh that comes out of him with 
a joyful whoop and ends in a strictly mas- 
culine giggle. I thought he must be looking 
at the funny page, because he is not above 


“Mother! I have something to show 
you!” he called out. 
“TI will come presently, Peter, 


I an- 


| swered, going on with what I was doing 


The next moment he came in, grinning 


| 
broadly. 


EVENING POST 


MY SON 


(Continued from Page 28) 


“‘Look at that!’’ he exclaimed, spreading 
a page of the paper before me. 

There was the picture of an old man and 

oman seated side by side, looking grim 
and strong in their yeevs, as if they had 
made a long journey together and knew 
they had come the right road. Beneath 
was printed: “Happily Married.” Two or 
three smaller pictures, of plain virtuous- 
looking men and women, appeared below, 
the kind you see in old family albums, and 
made long before photographers learned 
the lying art of touching up their negatives, 
but left the light to tell the truth about 
your grandmother’s wrinkles and her old- 
fashioned breastpin and the mole on your 
grandfather’s nose. 

I stared at these illustrations and glanced 
up inquiringly at Peter, as you do when 
you fail to see the joke. 

“But you have not read the headline! 
he said, crinkling his eyes to a keener humor 
at me. 

Then I saw printed at the top of the page 


in tall type: 
GOOD NEWS 
And beneath, in a smaller type: 
Tue Just SHALL LIVE BY FAITH 


” 


Long paragraphs and short ones followed. 
each with some good old motto for a title. 

I experienced an overwhelming sense of 
guilt, confounded with the gratification e 
a secret pride. My name was not there, 
but I myself had appeared in print. I for- 
got for the moment the pious purpos had 
when these sketches were written. I was 
flushed, elated and very fearful lest my son 
should suspect me. 

“Peter, these are not my reading glasses. 
I cannot make out what it is all about,’ 
I said faintly. 

“Well, it is all about what you talk of so 
much—the things good men have done, the 
patience with which good women have en- 
dured. It sounds so much like you that 
I could almost suspect you have been giving 
an interview to one of these smart young 
reporters!’’ he said teasingly. 

“You know I would never do such a 
thing!’’ I retorted. 

“Well, some fellow has put over a good 
thing. It comes corking near to being liter- 
ature. Listen to this,”’ he said, running his 
eye down one of the columns, and then 
beginning to read aloud what I had written 
about Jasper Wood coming along the dusty 
road at night like a whole regiment on his 
two feet to fetch the preacher for an old 
sinner who was about to die in his sins 
because he would not make his peace with- 
out a minister to receive and witness his 
confession. 

“Now that sings!"’ Peter exclaimed. 
“You hear the whir of wings about that 
old man of God hurrying with his salvation 
for that old scout about to pass!”’ 

I regarded Peter's back thoughtfully as 
he passed through the door into the parlor, 
still seanning this page of the paper. It was 
strange that he did not recognize this 
preacher as his own father. How far re- 
moved he was still from those great sub- 
stances in the lives of men out of which 
alone poetry, religion and literature are 
made. 

Then I took an indignant turn on my 
own heels because he was so far from even 
suspecting that his old sundown mother 
had written this thing. They who know us 
best know only our limitations best. You 
are much more likely to surprise your fam- 
ily t an the world if you achieve some- 
thing. 

Vanity must be a very quick growth! 
Here | was as secretly resentful at Peter 
beeau'e he failed to recognize me as the 
author hese little candle-lit tales as if he 
had seen the picture of his own mother and 
did not know her face because her name 
was not written beneath it. 

I went back to the table, my hand trem- 
bling so that the top tittered against the 
rim of the butter dish when I put it on. It 
is a wonder to me how real authors endure 
the excitement of their own performances. 

Later in the afternoon, when Peter had 
gone somewhere, I went in and read the 
whole of this Good-News page, much as 
you repeat the prayer you said last week. 
My memory is not very good except for 
Scriptures and hymns, but I reckon I could 
have repeated every word on that page be- 
fore I was done with it. It is odd how curi- 
ous we are about the simplest little image of 


January 1,192! 


our own minds we create, as the homeliest 
woman studies the reflection of her own 
face in a mirror. I doubt if this is due to 
vanity, but probably to a sort of perpetual 
astonishment that what you really are is so 
completely hidden by this countenance. So 
it was a sort of miracle to see the insides of 
my mind spread in type on this page, and 
to know that no one would suspect that, 
least_of all the feeling and purpose with 
which I had written. 

At last I took the scissors, cut this part of 
the paper and climbed the stairs to the 
attic, where William’s sermons lay neatly 
folded in the old tin box. What sublime 
imagery they contained of a good man’s 
heart, how much more bravely they have 
stood out than these pale shadows of mine 
which I laid among them! I closed the "id 
and remained a while on my knees before it 
not to pray but to grieve that William’s 
son was not such a preacher, that so much 
of the faith that William had lay folded 
away out of the thoughts and minds of 
men, like these yellowed pages of his old 
sermons. 

This Good-News 
favorable comment. 


page created much 

The wedded life of the 
Hightowers and Jasper “ .od’s cheerful 
goodness became the topic. uf social discus- 
sion. I was obliged to exercise considerable 
repression at a missionary tea during the 
~veek when a smart young matron said 
Mrs. Hightower was a fool, and that the 
modern wife would know a sight better 
how to take care of herself in the married 
relation, or get out of it! 

Peter met Mr. Quick, the editor of the 
paper, at the Add and Carry Club. He svid 
Mr. Quick told him that he had long con- 
sidered some such feature as this for his 
Sunday edition, and considered himself 
lucky to have hit upon the right idea; the 
people needed a change from the catas- 
trophic, and he thought there would be a 
reaction toward old-fashioned religious 
idealism. He invited Peter to contribute 
something to this page. He said the ma- 
chinery of press news ~ as not adapted to 
furnishing material fo. such a feature, and 
that was the only trouble he anticipated 
in keeping the thing going. Peter said he 
thought he had a thing or two that might 
help Quick out in this emergency. He had 
asked Quick where he obtained the copy for 
that first page. 

“He grinned and told me that was a 
secret, but he admitted what I suspected, 
that nearly all the copy came from the 
same source,”’ Peter said when he was telling 
me later of this conversation with Quick. 

“But I doubt if he can depend on it,”’ he 
added, “‘and I imagine he plans to get the 
preachers of the city to help him carry the 
thing. There will be one difficulty.” 

“What is that?” I asked. 

“Most of them will want to sign their 
names, and he prefers that all the copy 
should be anony mous,’ ’ he explained. 

“Why should they?” I wanted to know. 

“Well,” he BM smiling wittily, 
“‘oreachers are like other folks—they want 

ir children to bear their names. It is 
custumary and natural. A man’s thoughts 
are as much the offspring of his mind as 
they are of hisk + 

The following = anday there was a fine 
short essay at the top of the Good-News 

ge on “ Be ye doers of the Word,” which I 
suspected Peter wrote because it was so ra- 
tional and ethical, but he did not legitimize 
the thing with his signature. 

Meanwhile I was resolved that Mr. 
Quick should not lack for the soothing copy 
I thought the people needed. You may say 
that I entered the ministry secretly, with 
none of the brethren to lead me in prayer, 
and no choir to sing, beyond the tune of my 
own memories. I worked my recollections 
to the last littie decimal of a tale. Finally I 
worked out, and had to begin on the secret 
prayers and deeds of my own life. Here I 
discovered an inexhaustible supply of se- 
cret matter. It is astonishing how much we 
have lived and suffered and believed and 
hoped when we have been compelled to 
live better than we really are. 

And every Sunday my little stories filled 
most of this page. Peter said the only fault 
he had to find was with the editor. He said 
Mr. Quick strutted and aired himself like a 
hypocrite about his Good-News feature. 
He said the man was positively insuffer- 
able he was so boastful about how easy he 
found it to get more copy than he could 

(Continued on Page 46) 








en 8 


q 
4 







THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 























O encourage fuel sav- 
I ing we have thought it 
| helpful to show some of | 
| the ways that heat is lost 

| or wasted and how such 
losses can be located. 


i The common causes for 
heat loss are not deeply 
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If you find any one of 

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out a doubt be helped by 

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Often, pipes are covered but 
flanges and fittings left bare 
Very wasteful. More fuel is 
wasted by leaving one pair of 























Most coverings are too thin. 
You cover pipes to save heat. 


, 7 Why not save all that is 
Twenty-five feet of aver - : 


age size bar . flanges bare than if a whole possible by using proper thick 
ag are p ~ f 
i stean oe 7 : foot of the pipe itself were ness — instead of accepting the 
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~ aoa left uncovered partial saving of thin, inade 


pressure wastes 14 tons of 
coal a year. In the face of 
this fact uncovered pipes 
are inexcusable. 


; 


quate materials 






Vibration wears away materials 
that are structurally weak, caus- 
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$ oe tion of air between covering and 





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Not only pipes but every hot surface must Moral: Be sure that the material 

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Continued from Page 44 


most prominent 
ir mtributions 
0 torth 
adventure might 
imstance 
strictly commercial 
ything by ad 
to carry it on 
various religious de- 
, totaling many mil- 
me er when the 
ch greater Interchurch 
smote the ears of all 
At last the Lord 
established in the 
, 


a cire 


vertising 


scarcely-ov 


of all n, ardless of creeds, by a 

1. One of the officials of this organiza- 

yn passed th the city and saw what 
in excellent medium the Good-News page 
unday paper would be for 
Thereafter it was devoted 
to the propaganda of the latest 
tua] enterprise for the saving 


rough 


1 our 

purpose 
clusivel 

al pir 

the world 

The Fighteenth 


etin Jul 


iCAGINE - 


Amendment went into 
f this year. Peter had looked 
forward to prohibition as the solution of 
many problem He thought liquor fo- 
mented strife and stirred the evil passions 
of all classes. We all do. But now we had 
[he first effect we had from pro- 
was a flare of indignation among 
who had no active 
rela Those who habit- 
ially drank to the point of drunkenness had 
ittl But what disturbed Peter 
was the exaggerated sense many members 
had of their constitutional rights which had 
been violated by this law. He was obliged 
0 stop calling on Mr Hobbs to lead in 
though he had long been 
known as a consistent member of the church 
and had the gift of prayer, he was violently 
opposed to prohibition. Mr. Steward, on 
the other hand, was a rabid prohibitionist, 
and would not be led by Hobbs in prayer 
Men are queer people. I do not say that 
they are so deviously queer as women, but 
with 
the reputation they ‘have acquired for being 
They are by nature and in- 
lination lawmakers. They hang one an- 
other for committing murder. A man is 


He is sued if he does 


» shoci 
hibitior 


nany worthy citizens 


ion with evil forces 


e to say 


prayer because 


their queerness is far less consistent 


reasonable 


punished who steal 


THE SATURDAY 


pay his debts. He is watched in busi- 
ness, lest his profits interfere with another 
man’s rights Any one of them will get 
himself elected to the legislature so that he 
may pass more stringent laws. He will not 
allow you to expectorate on the street, even 
if you have a bad cold and @ught not to do 
it in your own pocket. But the moment his 
own Government, which he has made and 
which represents him, undertakes to enforce 
a law against one of his physical appetites 
he is up in arms. It makes no difference 
which appetite it is. If an ordinance should 
be passed against the drinking of butter- 
milk he would die by the churn. 

As for intoxicating beverages, he does not 
care for the stuff, never touches it, he tells 
you, but it is the principle of the thing to 
which he objects. It means paternalism in 
government, and paternalism means the 
overlording of law. A man could not call 
his soul his own! This was Mr. Hobbs’ 
argument. Presently they would take his 
tobacco and coffee from him! He belonged 
to the great minority. He was entitled to 
representation 

I thought this was queer, considering 
how earnestly he favored the Government's 
laying a chastening hand upon profiteers 
But being only a woman maybe I do not 
understand paternalism. I feel that it is 
a figurative term in politics and does not 
mean what it ought to mean. 

In vain Peter reasoned with Hobbs, re- 
minding him that nearly all crime, poverty 
and disease may be traced directly to in- 
dulgence in strong drink. That was not the 
point, he said. This was a free country. 
Somebody was tampering with the inalien- 
able rights of free men to choose whether 
they would be sober or not sober. And for 
one he would not submit tamely to this 
oppression. There were more ways of kill- 
ing a dog than choking him in butter, he 
announced darkly 

The primary preludes of electing officers 
for the city government came on. Hobbs 
espous-d the wet ticket. Steward was the 
raging lion of the dry forces. They met in 
joint debate and accused each other in 
public places. They published cards vilify- 
ing each other. The whole congregation of 
Peter's church took sides. Apparently there 
were no more good Christian people, but 
the majority of those who had gone under 


not 


EVENING POST 


this name were overwhelmingly for those 
candidates pledged to enforce prohibition. 
Nevertheless, every man on the wet ticket 
was nominated. 

The next Sunday Mr. Hobbs appeared, 
after several weeks’ absence, at the Sabbath 
services as usual, sitting prominently, look- 
ing satisfied and mild, like a man who is 
now willing to take the gospel, having car- 
ried his point in that secular matter of the 
election. And Mr. Steward transferred his 
membership to another church. 

I do not know which is the best time to 
hold a revival. If you have it before a 
political campaign many of your most in- 
fluential members backslide, boosting their 
candidate. And if you hold it afterward the 
mischief has already been done. And though 
a man may repent of everything else he will 
not repent of the candidate whom he helped 
elect, no matter how unworthy he may be 
to hold office. 

Peter held a series of perfunctory serv- 
ices after this political upheaval, much 
as you hold a Chautauqua. Nothing 
happened. 

If I take a bad cold, that is the least part 
of my trouble. What worries me much 
more is how I came to get it. I recall every 
draft that came through an open window. 
I remember the times I have risen in the 
dead hours of the night, thinly clad, and 
gone upstairs and downstairs to make sure 
that I really did lock all the doors before 
retiring. I consider the soles of my shoes 
and try to remember whether I wore my 
rubbers the last time I went to prayer 
meeting, which was on a damp evening. 
But I never can decide which imprudence 
gave me the cold. 

I was in the same doubt during the latter 
part of thissummer, about a marked change 
in Peter. He went doggedly on with his 
work, but not with the enthusiasm that had 
always been characteristic of him. He had 
lost his buoyancy, which in my opinion was 
never spiritual but due to the hardy con- 
science he had, a good conscience, but not 
sensitive, and never introspective. He di- 
gested his deeds, his prayers and his ser- 
mons, and lived on them as you forget the 
food that sustains you. But now he was 
not doing very well. He was moody. He 
practiced silence as a garrulous man pra¢ 
tices speech. He devoted more time to the 


January 1,192! 


preparation of his sermons and preached 
like a man with a stone hung round his 
neck. 

And this was not the worst of it. His 
church was more than half empty. This 
had never happened before, even in the 
warmest weather, when many members of 
his regular congregation were away on their 
vacations, because he had a sort of floating 
audience from the outside which more than 
compensated in members. Now these 
cheerful sinners were not there. Some pop- 
ular virtue had gone out of him and his 
ministry. 

I perceived that at last my son was 
beginning to be uneasy, like a man who 
fears he may receive his sight soon and be 
obliged to change his course. I thought he 
was losing that artless faith in his fellow 
men which had sustained him since he 
entered the minis’~v, and which is not 
justified. 

He was at last confounded by the con- 
fusion of spirits in men which drove them 
this way and that like the demoniacal pos- 
sessions mentioned in the Scriptures. The 
mountains were shaking at last, and I 
trembled for my son, for I could not be 
sure whether he would yield to a purely 
rational defeat or turn to God for a right 
understanding of his ministry. 

I experienced once more the old bur- 
dened feeling I used to have when William 
passed through a spiritual crisis. I could 
never be sure he would receive the blessing 
he desired of his Heavenly Father, nor what 
would happen if he did not get it. But 
I knew he would not go on preaching the 
gospel without it. Now in the same way 
I was anxious about what was going on in 
the heart of my son. I desired above all 
things that he should remain in the min- 
istry, and I knew that this question was up 
for settlement in his mind. He was an 
man. He was beginning to realize 
what I had known from the first—that his 
ministry had not accomplished its purpose. 
That he should understand this was neces- 
sary if he ever became a true priest, but 
what courage it requires in spiritual things 
to overcome defeat by faith! I did a sight 
of blind praying that summer to the one 
end that the Lord would guide Peter. 


honest 


TO BE CONCLUDED 














CATTLE, waa 


Mount Rainier From the Southern End of Cowlitz Ridge 








— 


——— a 


a 





























THE SATURDAY 





EVENING POST 





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THE SATURDAY EVENING 





© 


The fer swir 


tar ugh the 


thes in a fi 
ure 
four limes as 
im the 

nary washer. 


py of the interesting story “ George 
It's a book will enjoy, 
1 some surprising things from it. 


vou 


¥ movement 
of- 


or- 


THE DAINTY, IRRESISTIBLE BLOUSES one sees in the 
shops, the clinging, graceful negligees, the soft, intimate little under- 
things—did you know that they, too, can be popped right into the 
shiny copper tub of the 1900 Cataract Electric Washer and that 
out they will come, all their freshness restored, and sweet and clean 
as new? 


sb. 1ERE are two very definite reas ns why everything can be 
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The electric wringer is reversible, and can be shifted to any posi- 
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January 1,1921 


nang 


re 














garments he owns. Ma, who sits with him 
in the front seat, wears one-piece overalls, 
which are not especially beautiful but ex- 
ceedingly commodious. The girls, who perch 
upon the quilts and the skillets behind, go 
in for costumes ¢ onforming patriotism with 
comfort, as it were. They mate the khaki 
breeches and the spiral putties of a dough- 
boy witha broad-collared sailor’s blouse, 
thereby doing honor to the Army and not 
forgetting the Navy either. 

Thus accoutered, off the members of the 
household roll for an outing of a week or a 
fortnight ora month. Incredibly bad roads 
do not daunt them, for as often as not in- 
credibly bad roads are what they are best 
aequainted with. Dust thicker than any 
dust the Easterner can con- 
ceive of disturbs them not a 
whit. It is mostly powdered 
pumice anyway, and it wipes 
right off, leaving the skin 
white and clean. In a land 
where rain never falls from 
the time summer sets in un- 
til midautumn has come our 
campers need take no'heed 
of the weather. They eat in 
the open and they sleep un- 
der the stars. No matter 
how scorching hot the sun 
may be in the daytime, the 
air will chill the moment 
the sun goes down. And in 
those altitudes it’s always 
deliciously cool in the shade 
at any time. 





The Shade Hound 


In the course of a month's 
coursing back and forth 
through Oregon I think I 
must have seen five hundred 
such parties. As the license 
tags attested, they camefrom 
a dozen Western and North- 
western states, but mostly 
we met Oregon folk. Those 
who composed each separate 
group appeared to be having 
a perfectly gorgeous time, 
and it might safely be figured 
that the entire cost of the 
outing for a whole automo- 
bile load of such sight-seers 
would be less than is required 
to board a Pomeranian pup 
in a fashionable New York 
kennel while its owner is off 
for the summer. Kindlier or 
friendlier human beings 
never lived than these va- 
cationers were. Every now 
and then we had to ask the 
aid of some passing party in finding the shade 
hound, and never did we get a churlish reply. 

The shade hound took a lot of tending. 
He was a loan-collection dog. One of the 
members of our party borrowed him from 
a neighbor who recommended him highly for 
general purposes, but was reticent— pur- 
posely reticent, we decided afterward 
meses going into details touching on the 
exact metes and bounds of his sphere of 
usefulness. To look at, he was not a par- 
ticularly handsome animal. He was a mixed 
breed, being part Airedale and part, I 
think, lamp-chimney cleaner. He had the 
general shape and color of an Airedale, but 
the fluffy, woolly aspect which one associ- 
ates with a lamp-chimney cleaner. Imme- 
diately after acquiring him we discovered 
that he suffered from the affliction of 
palsy of the hind quarters, so that when he 
wagged his tail a general quivering motion 
was imparted to his after sections. Going 
away from one, he suggested a fashionable 
dancer; but approaching head-on, he more 
resembled something to be run through the 
flues in order to remove the soot. He was 
also quite deaf; but, as the saying goes, v 
heart was in the right place. He had a 
wonderful disposition. A kind word from 
a complete stranger—if he heard it— was 
sufficient to start him shimmying behind. 

Now we intended, if opportunity served, 
to hunt a variety of game—lava bear, black 
bear, wild fowl, deer and possibly cougar. 
That one of our party who had borrowed 
him, being an optimist, figured that the dog 
might qualify to hunt something or other 
that was on our tentative list. Events 
proved that the trust was misfounded. 
We tried him first on black bear. By re- 
quest, he smelled at the fresh bear tracks 





A QUEST IN YOUBETCHERLAND 


(Continued from Page 7) 


which were presented for his consideration. 
and very 
obliging, but anyone with half an eye could 
see that he lacked the enthusiasm which 
ever marks your true bear-trailing dog. 
He sniffed as a reluctant patient on the 
operating table might sniff at the approach- 


He was polite enough about it, 


ing ether cone or as a smoker might test 


with his nose a bad nickel cigar selling for 
Then, evidently feeling that he 
had done his full duty in the premises, he 
excused himself from the company and 
went back to camp and ate a ham which 
someone had left hanging on a low tree 
limb. It was plain, so his sponsor confessed 
was not tempera- 
organized to hunt black bear. 


a quarter. 


that night, that this dog 
mentally 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


experimenting. For by now we knew the 
true nature of his calling in life. He was 
a shade hound by profession. Whenever 
he was left to his own devices he dedicated 
his being to finding a patch of shade; and 
having found it, with slight shimmying 
motions betokening satisfaction, he would 
lie down in it and stay there as long as the 
shade did. Then he would rise up reluc- 
tantly to go and find some more shade. 

I am inclined to think that I was the 
first of our party to observe this peculiarity 
I noticed it after we had left the timber to 
sojourn a while in the sagebrush. There 
was not much shade out on the desert 
There rarely is, in the daytime, out there 


The patches of shadow under the stunted 








Sand Pinnactes, Crater Lake National Park 


Perhaps—so he hopefully suggested —per- 
haps his forte was chasing deer. 

So we waited a few days until the bear 
hunt was over, and then we loaded him on 
the running board of the car and took 
him across country to where the runs of the 
black-tailed deer made narrow paths in a 
vast thicket of lodgepole pines. We un- 
loaded him there, and by word and gesture 
encouraged him to show us a little some- 
thing along sporting lines. It was at once 
made manifest that of all the subjects in 
this wide world the subject of deer was of 
the least possible interest to him. I never 
saw a dog display more unmistakable signs 
of boredom. As plain as print, his manner 
told us what his feelings were. 

We were persistent, though; or rather 
the man who had borrowed him was. We 
carried him out of the forest and into the 
Great Desert and introduced him to some 
fresh coyote signs. Once more the result 
was disappointing. The dog’s demeanor 
unmistakably indicated that if ever in his 
life there hac been a period when he enter- 
tained any antipathy for coyotes he long 
before had decided, so far as the coyote 
was concerned, to let bygones be bygones 
Live and let live—such evidently he had 
made his motto. Finally we tried him at 
jack-rabbit coursing. But instead of pur- 
suing the smoke-gray bunnies he made un- 
successful efforts to put himself on terms 
of amicable understanding with this or that 

range jack rabbit crossing his path. 

These experiments, I should explain, ex- 
tended over a period of upward of a fort- 
night, and long before they were concluded 
we had discovered what he really was. I 
think it was stubbornness more than any- 
thing else which toward the last kept us 


greasewood and sagebrush bushes were 
hardly large enough to shelter field mice, 
and from an hour after sunrise until just 
before sunset the heat on clear days was 
unabated and intense. It came to my at- 
tention that our dog was favoring me with 
hiscompany. Offhand, I decided this must 
be an evidence of growing friendliness on 
his part; but closer scrutiny of his action 
revealed the fact that he was not entirely 
actuated by affectionate impulses. In what 
he did there was a trace, at least, of self 
interest. ‘I cast more shadow than any 
other person present did; he was trying to 
stay in my shade 

limes when we were motoring he would 
quietly drop off the running board and go 
to look for shade. He would strike off the 
road and tangent away for miles possibly 
before he found enough shade to suit him 
Meanwhile we would bowl merrily along 
usually for, say, half an hour before any 
of the remaining occupants of the car di 
covered that one of ou number no longer 
was with us If he 1 be longed to us we 
might have Pat te : him, but he wa 
borrowed property F we were 
pledge to return him in good order to | 
master. So we would turn around and 
back-track, looking for him. In a sparsel 
settled country this frequently meant much 
added travel. It might be that we would 
run for an hour on the rearward trail be 
fore we met another car or until we had 
come to some lone homesteader’s cabin or 
sheep herder’s camp. There we would be 
reasonably sure to find the shade hound 
tucked away somewhere on the shade side 
f the shack. 

Questing about to ascertain the where- 
abouts of the shade hound gave us a better 


under 








opportunity than otherwise we might have 
had to study the desert homesteader and 
admire the grit which inspires him to tackle 
dry-farming where fre juently dry-farming 
is one of the most uncertain and hazardous 
of agrarian pursuits. His claim nearly al 


ways lies out on the alkali flats, which are 
not alwavs flat, but which generally do 
carry a high percentage of alkali. The more 





fertile lands along the water courses were 


preémpted long ago, and the marketablk 


timber is either privately owned or lie 
within the state reserves and the nation if 
park So he sets up his cabin on the 
desert and there, season in and season out 


he wages a war against unfriendly element 
and a Nature which begrudges its scanty 
gifts. He contends with bit 
ter weather in the winter 
with wind and dust in the 
spring, with dust and heat 
in the summer. 

Always there is the possi 
bility of a scant rainfall in 
the wet season, which mean 
disaster for the grain he ha 
planted; and there is a cer 
tainty of assaults on his 
growing crops—if his crop 
grow—by the jack rabbit 
and the gophers and: the 
ground squirrels. It may be 
that he has to haul his water 
for miles; not only the water 
he drinks, but the water he 
washes in and the water 
he gives his stock. Often he 
must travel a considerable 
distance to chop the stunted 
juniper which serves him as 
firewood. He and his brood 
endure loneliness and alkal 
and sagebrush and sand 
storms and snowstorms. No 
flowers grow about his bare 
doorstep. No fruit tree 
blossom and bear in his door 
yard. Of course here | am 
citing atypical extreme case, 
but there are a great many of 
these typical extreme cases 

To the average Easterner 
the greatest wonder, next 
only to the amazing circum 
stance that the desert home 
steader ever settled where he 
did settle in the first place 
is the almost equally amaz 
ing fact that he hangs on so 
persistently. 

Sometimes he quit De- 
serted shanties give proof 


a that here or there some 


poor devil finally gave up 

and, acknowledging that 
the desert had licked him, moved on, leay 
ing the place he had called home to be 
come the abiding place of pack rats and 
owls. But for every one who surrende 





there is another who sticks, inspired, I 
think, more by the cra ing of the nati 

American to own a piece of this footstool 
for his own than by any hope of ultimate 
victory over natural disadvantages. He! 
the true pioneer of thi generatior the 


present pathfinder in the waste pla 


Rock, Sand, Alkali and Hope 
He stands fast, 


faint pro 


uoyed perhaps by the 


poste anh ye day irrigation ma 








olve the problem for him by turning the 
webrush into lush green gardens or that a 
railroad may come through, anc pe 
haps if he has luck his fenced-in n of 
rock and sand and leprous alkali will be 
come part of a town site And through it 
all he keeps his courage and his patie 
and his sense of independence He live 
ymehow or other. on a trifle of rather | 
than nothing a year, and he grins in t 
face of adversit; His hospitalit ' 
boundless as the iew from |} A 
Whatever he has is yours for t skit 


without it 


All about the edges of the particular are 


whither we went to kill our lava bear wer 
the steadings of struggling dry-farme 
We kne wina | ance ist where we hou 
go to hunt the lava bear, although with rt 
prior guaranty and ir leed w ’ 

prospect that we should find him wher« 
hunted From the hunter tend , 
one f tl wutstanding attra t 0) 
gon is that i ert elleds ‘ 
areas he is reasonab ire t find 





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| mule-tail. 


| Oregon is one 


THE SATURDAY EVENING 


January 1,192! 














haunts and feeding grounds of certain hunt- 
able creatures. There are areas where the 
mule-tailed deer lives, but rarely or never 
does the black-tailed deer abide there, and 
vice versa. There is at least one range 
where the white-tailed deer of the East or 


| a deer very much resembling him may be 
| looked for with more or less success. 


But 
old Oregonians told me that in this par- 
ticular neighborhood there was small likeli- 
hood for one to see a stray black-tail or 
It is as though all the animals 
had sent delegates to a congress where each 
variety, having selected its own abiding 
place, agreed to stay off the private pre- 


| serves of all the rest. 


This is particularly true, seemingly, of 
the deer; but it is true in a measure, also, 
of some of the flesh eaters. Black bear are 
fairly numerous on this or that mountain, 
while the cougar is rarely found there. 
Fifty miles away the cougar ranges, but 
the bear, except in exceptional circum- 
stances, does not. This arrangement sim- 
plifies things for both the hunter and the 
hunted. The hunter knows approximately 
that the game he seeks is common to a 
given locality, which, however, may be the 
size of the state of Massachusetts or larger 
of the ‘roomiest states we 
have, and localities as defined by the 
Oregonians are likely to be sizable. At 
any rate, having decided on what he wishes 
to hunt, the hunter decides upon the dis- 
trict in which he will hunt and goes there 

Presumably the animal knows that on or 
about a certain date the hunter will be 
along looking for him, and so during the 
hunting season he takes a vacation and 


| slips away into the more inaccessible parts 


At least such was our ex- 
perience. There are lots of deer in Oregon 
oodles and seads and shoals and herds of 
deer. But we found remarkably few of 
them at home when we called at their 
best-known places of residence 


of his domain. 


Fish and Fiction 


What applies to the habitats of the mam- 
mals in Oregon applies, in a way of speak- 
ing, to the fishing likewise. I am not 
speaking now of the salmon fishing, which 
these times is more or less of a commercial 
pursuit, but rather of the trout fishing. In 
stream the rainbow trout live and 
breed. In another the transplanted Eastern 
brook trout are numerous, while the rainbow 
may be scarce. In yet another the Dolly 
Varden trout or the steelhead or what not 
abound. We fished in one lake, and not 


one 


Crater Lake 


such a very large lake either, where on a 
certain shoal one was reasonably sure of 
snaring a mess of Dolly Vardens. A mile 
away, around a point, the fish one caught 
would probably be rainbows almost exclu- 
sively, and just across the lake, near the 
opposite bank, the speckled trout seemed 
to hold a monopoly on the feeding grounds. 
I do not know why this should be so, but 
so it was. 

Somewhere on this continent there may 
be better trout fishing than is to be found 
in Central Oregon, but personally I do not 
know where it is. Take, for example, East 
Lake, which for all-around fishing purposes 
is conceded to be about as dependable a 
lake as there is in Oregon. Ten years ago 
there were no game fish in this lake. It 
fills the crater of an old volcano, and it lies 
several thousand feet above sea level. by 
stream runs into it. It is fed largely t 
rain and melted snow and by hot ao Be 
which last are strongly impregnated with 
sulphur and iron and various other min- 
erals. When the state game commission 
decided to stock it, doubts were expressed 
as to whether under such conditions as 
these fish would live in East Lake, and 
grow and multiply. 

Did they grow and multiply? On both 
counts I'll say they did! It has been less 
than a decade since the first batches of fry 
and fingerlings were brought in small tanks 
on pack trains over the mountains from the 
hatchery and turned loose in East Lake. 
Ichthyologists are divided as to whether it 
was the quality of the water or the abun- 
dance of the feed or the presence of hot 
springs along the shore and in the lake bed 
or a combination of all three of these which 
produced a piscatorial miracle. But be the 
cause what it may, the fact remains that it 
is now no uncommon thing for a twenty- 
pound rainbow trout or an eight-pound 
brook trout to be taken out of East Lake. 
Indeed there is authentic record that a 
rainbow weighing thirty-six pounds was 
caught there, and an approved tradition 
has to do with a rainbow which is said 
to have weighed upward of sixty pounds 
twenty-four hours after he was landed. 
But, of course, when a fish attains to any 
such size as this he isn’t a fish any more, 
but a fiction, and all persons are warned 
against believing him, even though they 
behola him with their own eyes. He’s an 
optical delusion when you look upon him, 
and a plain fish lie when you tell about him 
afterward. 

I was shown a trolling tackle which has 
been used in the catching of some of the 


biggest of the East Lake trout. It con- 
sisted of two enamelware dinner plates 
riveted back to back with a doorknob 
affixed to the upper surface of the upper 
plate for a handle and with an iron rod 
passing through the bottom plate and so 
devised as to be made fast in a hole in 
the rear seat of a rowboat. Between the 
plates a line as heavy almost as sash cord 
was reeled. But of course such a rig as this 
isn’t possible either. It overtaxes the 
powers of human credulity to believe that 
such a thing is actually used for catching 
trout, and I do not expect the reader to 
credit me when I say that I saw it. 


Trolling for Whale 


Three of us went trolling for part of an 
afternoon in East Lake. Using a five- 
ounce rod and a light silk line, one of my 
companions, after a ten-minute battle, con- 
quered a rainbow which scaled ten pounds. 
With a somewhat heavier rig I took a brook 
trout which weighed one ounce less than 
five pounds—a hump-shouldered, broad- 
beamed monster with the head of a 
speckled trout and with the markings of 
one, but with a body which might have be- 
longed to a big-mouthed black bass. Be- 
tween us, the two of us who fished—for the 
third man rowed and gave advice—caught 
within two hours twenty rainbow and 
speckled trout of an average weight of 
about three pounds. In the eyes of green- 
horns from the East the least of our catch 
seemed a whale, but when we landed and 
saw a string of thirty-one rainbow aggre- 
gating in weight ne arly a hundred pounds 
which had been taken by two men in less 
than eight hours we curled up and quit. 

The scenery and the series of experiments 
with the shade hound and the fishing and 
the deer hunting and one side trip to Crater 
Lake for sight-seeing purposes and another 
to the headwaters of the Metolius River in 
the Deschutes National Forest, which is 
one of the most exquisitely beautiful spots 
that lie outdoors, and the mountain climb- 
ing and the pack-train trips and a lot of 
other things, including the death of a black 
bear, which event is to be treated sepa- 
rately as befitting the spectacular and 
unique merits of the case—as I say, all 
these things so retarded the beginning of 
the actual hunt for the lava bear that nearly 
three weeks elapsed between the time we 
started out by motor from the town of 
Bend and the time we struck into the lava 
beds east by northeast of Fort Rock. 

(Continued on Page 52) 








ee mir mn =~ 










As a man judges an automobile by what is under the hood, 
a woman should judge a motor-driven machine for her 
home by its motor 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


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N the final analysis, a woman is Satisfied only with 
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The far-sighted manufacturers of motor-driven 
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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 





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The man who succeeds is the man 
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The fact that you can think bet- 
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| unbenefit. | 
| for his hide, and nation and state offer 


| an easy mark for the poisoner. 


(Continued from Page 50) 

On the way, by appointment, we met 
and took along with us a young man who 
is supposed to know more about the habits 
of the lava bear than probably any other 
person in Oregon. Undoubtedly he does. 
His name is Andrews, and he is a trapper of 


| predatory animals in the Federal employ— 


perhaps the most successful trapper on 


| Uncle Sam's pay roll in the Northwest. He 


specializes in trapping coyotes. His an- 


| nual bag is an astonishingly large one. He 


has the knack of being able to outguess 
Br’er Coyote at his own game. This gift 
is not common among human beings; in- 
deed it is exceedingly rare, because of all 
created beings the coyote is one of the 
wisest and the wariest. 

He is smart, but he has no friends. 
Every man’s hand is against him. He is 
Ishmael going on four legs; Judas Iscariot 
in a gaberdine of mangy gray. His per- 
sonal appearance is prejudicial to his own 
interests; his personal habits are unspeak- 
able. The stockman dislikes him on general 
principles, and also because he murders the 
young calves. The sheep herder abhors him 
for that he is a constant menace to st raying 
baa-baas. He is chronically addicted to 
raiding hen roosts, hence the dry-farmer 
views him with aversion. He preys upon 
sage grouse and prairie chicken, so the man 
who loves wing shooting carries a couple of 
shells loaded with buckshot for his especial 
The fur dealer pays a good price 


bounties on his scalp, wherefore the pro- 


| fessional trapper spreads snares for his 


feet and sows poisened titbits in his path- 
way, and runs him down with wolfhounds. 
And everybody looks upon him with the 
jaundiced eye of disfavor, because he is 
sneaky and furtive and sly and unwhole- 
some of aspect, but most of all because he 
hates mankind and shows it. By day he 
slinks through the sagebrush, a living dis- 
figurement to the landscape. Comes the 
nighttime, and he stations himself upon 
some convenient elevation just out of gun- 
shot of the spot where you have pitched 
your camp, but within earshot of it, and 
there, hunkered back on his gaunt haunches, 


| with his nose uplifted to the unsympathetic 
| stars, he pours out the concentrated venom 


of his soul for hour after hour. For his sins 
he cannot sleep; for his vocal activities you 
can’t either. 

By his very mode of life he seems to ex- 
press his contempt for the forces arrayed 
against him and for all his enemies. Mainly 
he ranges on the open plain. He digs his 
den, wherein his dam rears his pups, right 
out on the desert, making no attempt to 
hide its entrance hole and its exit from 
sight. When occasion suits him he forages 
in the broad daylight, for always he is 
hungry, and nearly always he is famished. 
By rights, with all creation arrayed against 
him, he should have vanished long ago. 
But he absolutely refuses thus to oblige 
the implacable foe. Some of our biologists 
maintain he is more plentiful since the 
white man’s civilization invaded his orig- 
inal domain than he was when he had to 
contend only with bow-and-arrow Indians. 
Certainly he is constantly extending the 
limits of his hunting grounds. 


The Abounding Jack Rabbit 


With one exception, he is the only wild 
thing in America which probably is more 
numerous now than it was fifty years ago. 
The other exception is his fellow inhabitant 
of the staked plains, the jack rabbit. In 
his way the jack rabbit is a greater pest to 
the agric ulturist than the coyote is to the 
ranchman; for the jack rabbit is likewise 
a perambulating famine with an appetite 
which cannot be satisfied, and having a 
preference in his diet for young grasses and 
tender grain stuffs. In every Far Western 
state campaigns of extermination are waged 
against the jack rabbit. Individuals war 
on him for the protection of their own crops 
and for the bounties paid by state or 
county. Many a struggling homesteader 


| has weathered through a lean year on jack- 


rabbit bounties. Communities organize 
drives and kill tens of thousands of the 
long-eared nuisances in a single day. Gov- 
ernment employees go about the country 
showing the husbandman the latest and 
most approved scientific methods of slaugh- 
tering him. may be wrong in this, but 
I think there are courses in intensive jack- 
rabbit poisoning in some of the state agricul- 
tural schools beyond the Rockies. 

He is an easy target for the gunner and 
He bobs 


January 1,192! 


up before you as you ride through the sage- 
brush, lopes along for a few yards, then 
squats in plain view as though determined 
to allow himself to be slain. Stricken with 
one tiny leaden pellet he lays him down and 
dies. He attains Nirvana after nibbling a 
morsel of strychnine-treated grain which 
would merely give a ground squirrel a good 
appetite. No more arsenic than would 
clear a gopher’s complexion kills him on the 
spot. At intervals mysterious maladies 
decimate his breed. Measured as we 
measure things by mortal standards, he, too, 
should have long since disappeared; but 
he abounds. How he does abound! In one 
month in Oregon I myself saw more thar 
nine million jack rabbits. I kept a record 
up to the ninth million, but after that I got 
careless and sort of lost count. 


The Rambling Optimist 


The coyote, which is so devilishly wise— 
so canny about pitfalls and so sapient about 
lures and snares—endures because he is so 
wise. The jack rabbit endures for another 
reason—his devotion to family ties. When 
it comes to multiplying he is the champion 
lightning calculator of the entire animal 
kingdom. Compared with him, Belgian 
hares are amateurs and guinea pigs are 
confirmed advocates of the theory of race 
suicide. 

In pursuance of his trapping of coyotes 
and other predatory beasties, this young 
man, Andrews, has spent a dozen years 
more or less in and about the area where 
by all accounts the lava bear was most fre- 
quently encountered. Yet in all that time, 
so he told us, he had seen but three speci- 
mens and had killed but one. The one he 
killed had been a full-grown male, yet it 
measured, he said, a trifle less than three 
feet from the tip of its nose to the tip of its 
tail, with a height at the shoulder of about 
twenty inches. He described its shape as 
having been squatty and all bunched up. 
I gathered that the creature was hunched 
in its fore quarters, with the flanks sloping 
away sharply in its after sections. He had 
saved its skull, and he gave it to me. It 
was little larger than the skull of a fair- 
sized sheep dog would be, but with much 
heavier jaws. Adhering to the dried scalp 
were wisps of a curiously pale-red fur, 

which probably, before exposure bleached 
the hairs, had been a pronounced cinnamon 
color. Andrews told us there had been 
nothing about the appearance or the coat 
of the bear he killed to indicate kinship 
with the grizzly; rather it was its behavior 
when he came upon it which led him to be- 
lieve it might be a diminutive cousin of Old 
Ephraim. A black bear or a brown bear, 
of whatsoever size, would promptly have 
fled from him unless it chanced to be a 
female with cubs; but the lava bear ex- 
hibited no fear. On the other hand, it had 
shown a ferocity infinitely greater than its 
bulk justified. 

As I said just now, he had seen just three 
lava bears in his life. He knew of a veteran 
stockman who in thirty years on the range 
had glimpsed just four of the pygmies. So 
he warned us that our chances for finding a 
specimen, even though we were bound for 
its favorite habitat, were exceedingly small. 
He mercifully refrained from telling the 
tenderfeet what the habitat itself would be 
like. 

We found more optimism touching oi 
the prospect in another quarter. We were 
replenishing our outfit in the general store 
of a tiny hamlet on the edge of the desert 
when a picturesque person rambled in. In 
this connection I use the word “‘rambled”’ 
advisedly. The gentleman in question evi- 
dently had been looking upon the lemon 
extract when it was yellow or the Jamaica 
ginger when it was red. But lemon extract 
is a mocker and Jamaica ginger is raging 
and whosoever is deceived thereby is not 
wise. His breath was fragrant, even as a 
soda fountain, and his eye was rolling wide 
and free. As stated, he rambled in, trip- 
ping over crates of canned goods and get- 
ting himself entangled with agricultural 
implements, and he propped himself 
against a show case where we were gathered 
in the rear of the establishment and gave 
us opportunity to appraise the gorgeous- 
ness of his raiment. Just to look at him 
was a treat. He was attired in the most 
ornate and glorious gearings that a cowboy 
can select out of a mail-order catalogue. 
His boots were excessively high-heeled and 
carried vast silver spurs. The legs of his 
chaps had wide leather wings on them, and 
these wings were bossed with brass knobs 

(Conctuded on Page 54) 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 





YOU HAVE always known there would 
be such a car. You have felt it would be 
beautiful with the beauty of true propor- 
tion and deliberate grace. You have 
known it would be strong with the 
strength of unHlawed metal and authentic 
skill. Silence would be the eloquent ad- 


Eee hE Ee gD 


vocate of its merit “ * Thinking these 
things, and how other cars wonderfully 
fine have only narrowly failed of this 


NE 


image, surely we were bold indeed who 
should seek in such an enterprise to be 


successful. Surely we had need religiously 
to compact in this all that the past has 
proved and, not incautiously, that the 
future promised. For ours was to be a 
car which constantly should do quietly 
and with ease what many another might 
not do at all. Such a car as might with 
safety and with honor uphold upon its 
finished excellence our future and our 
hopes * & We offer it to you now. 
And if in so offering it there is evident 
some slender trace of pride, it is such 
pride as rightfully may be found in the 
knowledge of how earnestly we have 
tried to make it fine *  Itis beautiful 
and quiet and strong. It will serve you 
brilliantly and well * #* * #* & 


LAT ATECITIE 





“aN 











THE SATURDAY 





National Bank of Commerce 


in New York 





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EVENING POST 


(Concluded from Page 52) 

and edged with broad leather fringes. His 
hat never cost a cent less than thirty dol- 
lars. His double-breasted blue shirt was 
adorned with pearl buttons the size of 
butter plates. For a final touch he wore 
upon his breast, between the twin ranks of 
his marching buttons, a monogram em- 
broidered in red, and the letters of this 
monogram were at least two inches long. 
Plainly it was no trouble for him to recog- 
nize himself. One glance adown his bosom 
at those blazing initials, and instantly he 
would know exactly who he was. This 
should be a great convenience to a lemon- 
extract fancier. 

Without waiting for an invitation he 
joined in the conversation then going on 
between the members of our party and the 
storekeeper. Since we had come thus far to 
hunt lava bear, naturally lava bear was 
the subject under consideration at the 
moment. 

Immediately he took over the burden of 
the talk. At inopportune moments, though, 
he involuntarily interpolated into his re- 
marks symptomatic sounds indicative of 
some passing derangement of the digestive 
apparatus. 

“Hie!” thus he began. “Why, say 
hic—ain’t no troub’ find old lav’ bearsch 
an’wheres out yonder.”” He waved his 
arm to include at least two points of the 
compass. ‘‘Yasshur, an’wheres out there 
find ‘em li'l’ ole lav’ bearsch. Way to do 
is jes--hic—’em to death.”” He paused, 
looking at us reproachfully as though si- 
lently blaming us for the labial miscue. 
Then he tried again. ‘Don’ need take no 
gunsch ‘long kill lav’ bearsch. Jes lellum 
come at you an’ w’en get closch jes haul 
off an’-hic—’em to death. Thasch way 
I do—hie—’em to death. Like thisch.” 
Illustrating, he aimed a violent stroke with 
his right toe at space. ‘‘Thasch c’rect 
way! Youbetcher!” 

At least two of our group were pleased 
to hear this. If a bear could be hicked to 
death the undertaking would simplify itself 
for persons whose marksmanship with a 
high-powered rifle was inclined to be erratic, 
especially in moments of excitement. We 
had never done any hicking, but we were 
willing to try. It seemed you did it with 
your foot. 

Cheered by his words, we packed and 
went away. Twenty-odd miles farther 
along, when we had passed the last ranch 
and the most outlying homesteader’s shack, 
we dipped down into a waste known as 
Squaw Flats, and made camp in the aban- 
doned cabin of a sheep herder. Next morn- 
ing early we set out, bumping in our car 
through the trackless desert to where, 
north of the flats, the lava bed reared its 
low parapets. Within a quarter of a mile 
of the lava wall, and just after we had quit 
the automobile, we found bear tracks 
fresh ones, and smaller than any bear 
tracks which any of us, with the exception 
of Andrews, had ever seen. We had struck 
the trail of the lava bear right off the reel! 
The tracks led through the greasewood and 
the sagebrush and on into the lava bed. 
We followed, all exhilarated. We came 
speedily to the boundary where, abruptly, 
the lava met the alkali. At the heels of 
the trapper we invaded that lava. 


A Sea of Gray Rock 


I fear me my typewriter and I have 
traveled a long and rambling way to reach 
a briefened and disappointing climax. We 
invaded that lava bed to a depth of perhaps 
a hundred yards, and there the invasion 
came to a halt. 

Creation surely was acting up in a most 
reactionary manner when this part of the 
world was cooling off. Volcanoes spouted, 
mountains moved, the face of the earth was 
reft into deep cracks and clefts, ths melted 
basalt flowed in rivers, the obsidian was 
heaved up into rounded hillocks of smooth, 
glistening black glass; altogether condi- 
tions were decidedly unsettled in those good 
old Archzozoic times. By and by, after a 
million years or so—but what's a million 
years among geologists?—the old-line or 
pre-Cambrian Republicans carried the 
country and confidence was restored and 
things quieted down again. The upthrown 
buttes put upon them garments of green 
verdure. The mountains took on pines and 
firs. 

Some of the craters filled with water 
and were transformed into lake beds. 
Others, dead now as volcanoes, yet still 
functioning funnelwise, were left to yawn 
as the dead fireplaces of a dead age when the 


January 1, 192i 


planet was in flux, but became garlanded 
about their rims with the laurel and the 
manzanita. Only the lava beds, as a real- 
estater would say, resisted the onward 
march of improvement. As they were at 
the beginning of measurable time, so have 
they remained unchanged, and so always 
they will remain unchanged—the drearest, 
grimmest, dourest, most forbidding, most 
inhospitable things of Nature’s contriving 
that ever were. 

Imagine a sea that is crested with 
breakers and tempest-tossed into all man- 
ner of shapes—but it is not a sea of water. 
Imagine it as a sea of gray rock eternally 
congealed into the aspect it took on as it 
hardened after it poured forth out of the 
bowels of the earth—pocked with sink 
holes, furrowed with troughs, seamed with 
fissures, lifted into sharply serrated waves, 
then dropping away into caves and caverns 
so deep that in their lower chambers the 
whole year through ice may be found where 
the rainwater, dripping down through 
cracks from above, froze in a temperature 
which never changes. Imagine a stretch of 
this that is ten miles long, or twenty or 
thirty, and perhaps half as wide as it is 
long. 

This space is treeless and grassless and 
almost shrubless. Nowhere does it rise to 
a height of more than fifty or seventy-five 
feet above the level of the flat upon which 
it rests, yet to traverse it is a harder task 
than your seasoned mountain climber 
would care, offhand, to undertake. The 
edged lava underfoot literally cuts the 
soles off your boots. The glassy surfaces 
tear your palms when you seek for hand- 
grips to climb upward over a ridge or to 
slide downward into a depression. It takes 
hours of incredibly hard work for one to 
penetrate into a lava bed for a mile; and 
when you have penetrated that far the 
chances are that you will be completely and 
teetotally lost, because every square rod of 
it looks identically like every other square 
rod of it. 


No More Hunts for Lava Bear 


At least, so I am given to understand. 
Personally I did not test the thing out. 
Our guide was willing enough to keep on 
going indefinitely in the direction which he 
figured that lava bear had taken, and the 
two other Oregonians in our party seemed 
to regard lava-bedding as a pleasant recre- 
ation for a hot day, but inside of ten 
minutes from the time we invaded that 
hell’s township the remaining pair of us 
had accumulated enough reminiscences of 
lava-bed exploring to last both of us 
through the balance of our lives. We felt 
that we had lost our ambition to cross the 
table. We were satisfied, and more than 
satisfied, when we rolled into one of the 
side pockets. 

I think there must have been something 
about us—about our expressions, perhaps, 
or our manner, or in the words we let fall 
which caused our companions to read in 
our faces that simultaneously we had 
reached a decision to reconsider. However, 
we made ourselves clear to them on one 
point: We had not abandoned the quest. 
We merely had postponed it. 

We did not say for how long—we merely 
said we had postponed it, and let it go at 
that. 

So then we crawfished back down out of 
there and patched up our wounds and shot 
jack rabbits for the rest of the week. A 
jack rabbit is not particularly good to eat, 
and as a target he does not offer a great 
deal, but as a sporting proposition he had 
to us one great outstanding attraction —he 
didn’t reside in any lava bed. 

Some of these days, when opportunity 
suits, L mean to go back to Youbetcherland, 
for to my way of thinking it is as fine a 
place for vacation purposes as lies outdoors. 
But when I go I think I shall not invade the 
Oregon lava beds to find the Oregon lava 
bear. 

To begin with, I now realize that I have 
not lost any lava bear. In the second 
place, the undertaking is one for a pro- 
fessional naturalist. A weak-minded natu- 
ralist who doesn’t care what becomes ‘of 
him would make the best possible candidate 
for the job. 

I wish him luck. I hope he finds a per- 
fect specimen and brings it out. And then 
in the days to come, when again I feel the 
craving to hunt lava bear stealing over 
me, I can get on a train and run down to 
Washington and go over to the Smithsonian 
Institution and hunt it there. 

Youbetcher! 





ean 





— 


eee PAS 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 55 

















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“T'll give you yards,”’ responded Horton, 
unable to hide his pleasure that his dissua- 
sion had been unsuccessful. ‘ Humorous 
stuff is the hardest thing in the world for a 
newspaper to get. Some idiot like you is 
worth more to us than fifty statesmen hand- 
ing out double-leaded platitudes. Though 
as I said before, Beddy, you will simply be 
flinging away every : 

‘Oh, piffie!” exclaimed Beddy, who was 
in no humor for further warnings. ivery 
reformer is a joke and a crank and an idiot 
at the beginning. The first man who carried 
an umbrella shook London to its founda- 
tions and was almost killed by the mob. 
Plimsoll was torn to ribbons in the press 
for trying to save seamen from coffin 
ships. Darwin was the joke of his period. 
Pasteur was constantly arrested for prac- 
ticing medicine without a license.” 

Still speaking, he had risen to his feet 
and taken his hat and gloves. 

“‘Come along,”’ he said gayly, though in- 
ternally there was a terrible sinking in the 
pit of his stomach. ‘‘ The way to begin is to 
begin! Zero hour, boys!” 

The elevator was dark, and the descent 
was made at no cost of Beddy’s assurance. 
The yawning colored elevator boy seemed 
to look everywhere except at Beddy’s feet. 
But in the lobby, flooded with spring sun- 
shine, whom should they meet but Miss 
Félice Turner. Miss Turner was an ador- 
ably pretty brunette who had a studio 
apartment all to herself on the same floor as 
Beddy’s, and with whom all three young 
men had been trying in vain for months to 
scrape acquaintance. Cooper and Haynes 
were madly in love with ion Beddy, for 
all his devotion to Helen 5 Hn never 
passed the sparkling Félice without a catch 
at his heart. Mrs. Briggs, who knew 
everything, said the girl had left home and 
wealth to study art and earn her own living 
as a designer. But whether this were true 
or not, she was certainly one of the prettiest 
and most unapproachable of young women. 

Well, here “ws was, prettier than ever, 
with some packages on her arm, and—as 
she looked at Beddy— the most astonished 
expression he had ever seen on a feminine 
countenance. Ordinarily the beautiful 
Félice was wholly unable to see a young 
man. She could gaze right through a 
young man as though he were invisible. 
But she did see Beddy’s feet. 

The rest of him might be invisible, but 
there was no doubt she saw his feet; and, 
seeing, showed every symptom of uncon- 
cealed amazement. 

Beddy hurried by her with a flaming face. 
His feet seemed toswell and, at her pursuing 
scrutiny, grow nakeder every second. And 
how cold they felt on the pavement out- 
side, which had been newly sprinkled and 
was unexpectedly stubby to sensitive and 
tenderly reared soles! A wave of hatred for 
Miss Turner rose within him, though a 
strictly logical mind could scarcely have 
held her culpable. Why had she chosen that 
morning, of all mornings, to meet him face 
to face? The wave of hatred rose till it in- 
cluded Horton also. How perky and ex- 
pectant Horton looked! It was nothing to 
Horton that a young man with excellent 
prospect was sacrificing himself for the 
public good. Horton wore the aspect of a 
sportsman who knew it was a good day for 
ducks. 

Beddy decided to walk to the bank, not 
wishing to reach it before the official hour 
of opening. The horrified surprise of friends 
and acquaintances seemed more to be 
dreaded than the stare of strangers. Stran- 
gers would give him a startled look and then 
edge away — often with the suddenness of a 
shying horse. Sometimes when they were 
small and young and ragged they would 
walk backward in front of him, scream- 
ingly inviting the world to behold the sight. 
But in general the Upper West Side was 
very intent on its own affairs and wouldn't 
have turned round to leok at a striped 
elephant. 

But on Fifth Avenue, the haunt of lei- 
sure, it was very different. Beddy acquired 
a tail. Horton, looking back, said that 
there were at least twenty people following 
them. At Fifty-sixth Street, the tail still 
swelling, there came the first clash with the 
police. 

“Hey, what's the matter here?’ de- 
manded a big policeman, placing himself in 
front of Beddy and blocking the entire pro- 
cession. “Hey, young fellow, where’s your 
shoes? 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


THE MAN WHO 


(Continued from Page 5) 


“T can’t afford to buy shoes,” exclaimed 
Beddy in an oratorical voice. ‘ They are so 
expensive I can’t afford to buy them, and 
I am going to go barefooted till the price 
comes down. This profiteering has got to 
stop, and I am going to stop it!” 

The policeman eyed him with bewilder- 
ment. The crowd, growing prodigiously, 
repeated Beddy’s remarks with crisp varia- 
tions. 

“If you are advertising something, you 
can’t do it here,”’ said Authority, turning 
Beddy round to look at his back. 

“T am advertising human misery,” said 
Beddy. “I am advertising the plight of 
thousands.” 

“Well, you must do it on Sixth,” said the 
yoliceman. ‘Anything goes on Sixth. But 
nere you are liable to be run in for indecent 

exposure, disorderly conduct, leading a pro- 
cession ey a permit and resisting an 
officer. ou don’t want ten days on the 
Island you —t ee better beat it.” 

By this time the mob, constantly aug- 
menting, had spread into the Avenue, block- 
ing the traffic. The windows of the high 
buildings on either side began to fill with 
faces. The Man Who, much happier now 
that he was angry, vociferously stood on his 
rights as a citizen. He was still vociferat- 
ing when the patrol wagon arrived out of 
nowhere and engorged him. 

But the grave, gray sergeant at the desk 
would allow no charge to be entered against 
Beddy. Making some caustic remarks 
about young trouble makers in plaited 
shirts and ascot ties and the inadvisability 
of rousing an overworked police, he re- 
quested Beddy to “‘get out of here, and get 
out quick!” 

Beddy obeyed and, soon accumulating a 
new procession, toiled slowly back to Fifth 
Avenue. He reached it at Fiftieth Street, 
where history repeated itself even more 
tumultuously— mob, blocked traffic, brow- 
beating policemen, crowding windows, ora- 
tory niiendan and, finally, the inevitable 
patrol automobile. But this time it was a 
very different sergeant—a terrible old fel- 
low with a white mustache, who had no 
scruples in charging Beddy with all the 
crimes in the calendar. 

As they were being entered, however, 
White Mustache, after several sharp glances 
at Horton Meiklejohn, suddenly beheld a 
great light. The police dread the press; and 
the masquerading reporter, who writes them 
up next day and gets them in hot water 
with their superiors, is not a person they 
willingly interfere with. 

“On consideration I don't see as this 
young man has committed any particular 
harm,” the sergeant observed with an 
extraordinary softening of manner. ‘Sure, 
the price of shoes is something fierce, and 
we may all have to imitate him if the prices 
stay up. Dismissed!’ 

With that he waved Beddy away. 

“Where now?” asked Horton, still 
briskly sportsmanlike. 

Beddy’s feet ached. He was tired and 
cross and humiliated. It taxed all his reso- 
lution to say, “Back to Fifth.” But he 
said it in a voice now a little hoarsened by 
declamation. 

At Forty-fifth Street, five blocks nearer 
the bank, there was a weary repetition of 
the whole business. If anything the crowd 
was larger, the police more blustering, the 
general commotion and uproar on an en- 
hanced scale. Horton nodded here and 
there to a dozen other reporters. News- 
paper Row had heard of Beddy and was 
out in force. Staff photographers photo- 
graphed him from the tops of green busses. 
A moving-picture outfit tore up just as he 
was being loaded into his third patrol 
wagon and went into action with the pre- 
cision of a machine-gun squad. Beddy 

was glad to get into the patrol wagon. It 
meant seclusion and a chance to sit down 
and rest his feet. He smiled at the moving- 
picture operators and waved his hand. He 
was becoming used to celebrity. 

This time he was taken directly to a 
police court, where after a short but not 
unwelcome waiting he was called before the 
magistrate, a severe-looking Jew with a 
pouncing way of getting at facts as though 
they were mice, and he a grizzled old Tom 
who knew just when to dart out his paw. 
No fact, however small, scurried past 
Judge Abrahams. Beddy wilted under the 
glare of those bloodshot old eyes that 
seemed to stare at him with such animosity. 
Nomercy here, that was plain. Thesmooth, 


glib cop had everything his own way. The 
magistrate cleared his throat and, gazing 
at Beddy more menacingly than ever, said: 

“It is an intolerable thing that the police 
should interfere with this ex-soldier, whose 
only crime is being poor. In the court’s 
opinion a man who cannot pay the present 
extortionate price of shoes and who cou- 
rageously does without is highly to be com- 
mended. Mr. Mills, sir, youaredischarged.”’ 

Beddy bowed, and was turning to go 
when there was a terrific flash and report, 
and he realized he had been photographed 
with the judge. The fumes were still in his 
eyes and throat as Horton, more used to 
such proceedings, guided him out of the 
building. 

On the curb outside, as the newspaper 
men and photographers gathered about 
him like expectant bird dogs, he decided 
he would continue his further progress in a 
taxicab. After three arrests in the forenoon 
even the most robust young man is entitled 
to feel a trifle tired. 

In the past of the night before, now in- 
credibly dim and distant, as though half a 
lifetime had intervened, Beddy had looked 
up the address of a press-clipping bureau, 
planning to take out a subscription. To 
know what the public is saying of you is 
very important to a Man Who. A press- 
clipping bureau provides the mirror in 
which he can see himself. Beddy gave the 
address, which was repeated down a line of 
taxis behind him, and sank into his seat. 
Becoming a Man Who was certainly an 
arduous business. You needed a constitu- 
tion of iron to become a Man Who. 

Horton was in high spirits. 

“It’s simply unbelievable—the way you 
are ripping up the town,” he exclaimed. 
“If anybody had told me that one bare- 
footed man could make all this hullabaloo, 
I would have thought him plumb crazy. I 
guess you must have hit the exact psycho- 
logical moment when such a tomfool thing 
would 

“If there isn’t a big murder between now 
and Wednesday, or some tremendous scan- 
dal, you are going to be the most-talked-of 
man in New York.” 

After a pause he added: “How shall I 
ever be able to thank you for letting me in 
on this? Oh, and before I forget it—you 
will give me the first interview, won't you? 
Just a twenty-four-hour start over the 
others, that’s all. To-night at eight—will 
that do?” 

Beddy nodded his assent. He was in no 
humor to talk, and his feet were smarting. 
His friend's elation, instead of being a help, 
was almost an infliction. As they drew 
near the big building where the bureau had 
its offices he decided to beg Horton to go 
in his place. 

“Tf it is not too much trouble,” he said, 
getting a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet. 

Nothing was too much trouble for Hor- 
ton, who jumped out with alacrity, grinning 
at his brother journalists, whose arriving 
taxis were lining their rear. Beddy sank 
deeper in the luxury of his seat and lit a 
cigarette. You had to be a celebrity to ap- 
preciate such lulls as these. But his repose 
was only momentary. Two camera men 
ran up, begging for a close-up of his feet. 
They said they did not wish to trouble 
him—they were the politest young men 
imaginable— but would he not oblige them 
by putting his legs over the side of the car? 
It would only take a moment, and th 
would be so much obliged. Beddy obliged, 
while the moving-picture people, whose 
automobile bore a gilt inscription, * ‘All the 
News of the World in Pictures,”’ reeled off 
photographs of the photographers. The in- 
evitable crowd rose out of nowhere, and 
once again Beddy was the center of a 
surging sea. 

Horton returned, 
through the jam. 

“IT went a Tittle beyond your order,” he 
said, taking his place beside Beddy. “You 
would hardly believe it, but the fellow up 
there already knew all about you—that’s 
how news travels in this burg —and when 
I planked down the ten bucks he burst out 
laughing. Then he said I had better put 
in an order for ten thousand as a starter, 
and it ended by my promising you would 
send him a hundred dollars on account. Is 
it all right?” 

Beddy answered that it was all right, and 
his face showed his satisfaction. Yesterday 
not a newspaper would have printed his 
name unless he got married—or died. Now 


elbowing his way 


January 1,192! 


in only a few hours the press-clipping 
bureau had put him in the ten-thousand 
class, and All the News of the World in 
Pictures was running after him like a pet 
dog. He was a Man Who, and nobody 
could deny it. As his exhilaration mounted 
he suddenly realized he was famishing. Let 
the bank wait! Lunch—that was what he 
needed. He mentioned the name of an 
excellent little grill to Horton. Horton 
was shocked. 

“T was endowing you with a genius for 
publicity,” he cried out, “and here you 
want to take me to a little hole and corner 
joint like that! No; the right place to go 
to is the Watteau-Victoria at the head of 
your cohorts and unloose as much pan- 
demonium as possible in their gilded halls. 
You are out to startle New York, aren’t 
you? Well, let’s hit them in the high spots, 
and hit them hard.” 

Shivers ran down Beddy’s spine as Hor- 
ton gave the order to the chauffeur. 

“Watteau-Victoria,” he said. ‘Main 
entrance on Forty-second Street.” 

It was an admirable choice—from the 
point of view of unloosing pandemonium. 
They flooded into the spacious lobby like a 
Red army invading the home of all the 
Czars. Pale clerks, stunefied with horror, 
gazed at the barefooted intruder who led 
the way so jauntily. Then bells began to 
ring; bell boys scurried; like an invaded 
hive the great hotel hummed with an 
ominous note. 

A foreign lady, very bejeweled and in the 
shortest skirt ever beheld, screamed out, 

“Ze revolution!’”’ Commotion! Uproar! 
Guests flattening themselves against walls; 
camera men leaping on chairs like goats; 
the Red army advancing down the famous 
Alley toward the dining room. But ha! 
Devoted Cossacks block the way—two 
house detectives, several husky porters in 
blue-flannel shirts and a stalwart engineer 
from the dynamo room swinging a monkey 
wrench. 

There was no parley. The technic of the 
Watteau-Victoria was evidently to throw 
itself on an undesirable and rush him sub- 
terraneanward, with the minimum of noise 
and the maximum of kicks. At that palpi- 
tating instant, as Beddy gave himself up 
for lost, but with a determination to fight 
to his last breath, All the News of the 
World in Pictures bounded on an onyx 
table while confederates instantaneously 
unfurled two immense white sheets by way 
of reflectors. 

The defense was paralyzed. The sheets 
were even more daunting than the clicking 
camera. 

There was no real command in the chief 
detective’s voice as he ordered Beddy to 

“get the hell out of here!’’ His half- 
whispered request to one of the porters 
showed his desperation. 

“Quick! Get Mr. Bratzi!”’ he exclaimed. 

His discomfiture was complete when 
Horton remarked in his high, thin, incisive 
voice: 

‘The Morning Clarion, which I repre- 
sent, is interested to see how this hotel 
treats friendless ex-service men.”’ 

Mr. Bratzi appeared at this juncture; 
a sallow, imperious man, with snapping 
black eyes, who gave the impression of a 
voleanic nature under iron restraint. As a 
photographer shouted to him, “Please 
hold that pose, mister,” he visibly gritted 
his teeth. 

Addressing Beddy, after looking him up 
and down with extreme disdain, he said in 
accents that would have cut ‘corundum, 

“Will you kindly inform me what you are 
doing here?’ 

“Oh, just lunching with my friend, Mr. 
Meiklejohn, of the Morning Clarion,” re- 
turned Beddy. 

“And do you consider that a suitable 
way of appearing in public?’’ asked Mr. 
Bratzi, indicating Beddy's feet with a 
dramatic finger. ‘‘There are ladies here, 
sir, and it cannot be permitted.” 

“I don’t see why the ladies should mind,” 
retorted Beddy. “The fact is, I am con- 
ducting a campaign to reduce the price of 
shoes by doing without them. Perhaps I 
might have the privilege of enrolling you 
as a member of my association?”’ 

Mr. Bratzi gasped 

"ae nothing to me whether you wear 
shoes or not,” he said. “One thing only 
I know, and that is no shoeless individual 
may enver my dining room.’ 

(Continued on Page 59) 





== 


Pee pet anton 










THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 









a ta 


ii, Bik A 
oe ve + ¢ N ha 
 - :: Bi . re 4 i ; wt ' y ae 
‘ Be id a fr 5 it i 2 be Tt ; : “4 






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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January t, 1921 


Valspar—tested by Fire and Water! 


N the night of September 13th, 1919, the sky line of Brooklyn, N.Y., 
was thrown into bold relief by the flickering glare from the great five- 
million-dollar Standard Oil fire. 


For five days and nights the fire boats fought the flames at close quarters 
continually drenched with water, jammed up against the scorching heat. 


These fire boats were Valsparred. And when the siren signalled ‘‘Out’’ 
not a single blister or white spot was visible on their Valsparred surfaces. 


A terrific varnish test! But Valspar stood it — just as it stands all tests in- 

The Famous doors or out. Hot and cold water, snow, sun, oil, grease —Valspar holds its 
natant brilliancy against them all. Valspar varnish never turns white. 

Anything varnished with Valspar can be washed with soap and hot water 

without harm. With floors, linoleum and woodwork Valsparred, think how 

easy to keep your bathroom, kitchen, pantry and nursery clean and sanitary. 


Anything worth varnishing 1s worth Valsparring. 


VALENTINE & COMPANY 


Largest Manufacturers of High-Grade Varnishes in the World — Established 1832 


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W. P. Fuiver & Co., Pacific Coast 





VALENTINE & COMPANY, 456 Fourth Ave., New York VA | EB N | N E’ S 


Special Offer 


11 tamps, we will send you a 30c¢ 
u t finish a small table or chair, 
Address 


Saturday Booming Post 1-1-2 RRR ete The Varnish That Won't Turn White 























! 
bal i 
1 i. 
‘2 
i 
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‘ 
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, 
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(Continued from Page 56) 

“This one is going to enter it!”’ exclaimed 
Beddy with battling eyes. As he spoke he 
took a step forward. 

“Moreover, every table is engaged,” 
protested Mr. Bratzi, evidently abandoning 
the front-line trenches to win by strata- 
gem. He glanced meaningly at a subordi- 
nate, who hurried away. 

‘I am afraid I can’t take your word for 
that,” said Beddy, pushing past him. 
“Come along, Horton, let’s get there before 
they can close the doors.” 

The pair almost ran, while cameras 
clicked and reporters trotted after, But the 
doors had not been closed. On the contrary, 
they were wide open, disclosing dozens of 
empty tables which waiters were frantically 
dotting with cards marked “Reserved.” 
Beddy and Horton burst out laughing 
at these attempts to forestall them. The 
lunchers, of whom there were at least a 
hundred, laughed too, and uproariously, as 
they saw the barefooted man racing to 
secure a table that was as yet unmarked. 
The general hilarity increased when waiters 
appeared withscreens and segregated Beddy 
and Horton in a room of their own. 

Here luncheon was served to them with- 
out further trouble, except for people who 
mounted chairs outside the inclosure to 
stare down at such mysterious and secluded 
strangers. Beddy, amid much merriment, 
was kept busy explaining his campaign to 
these broadly smiling faces, which were 
constantly renewed. In all its history that 
dining room had never been the scene of 
such indecorum. The scraping of chairs 
was incessant. Once the wabbly walls fell 
down and had to be restored by smiling 
waiters. Everybody was friendly and in- 
terested. 

But it was not wise to linger in this 
Capua. Horton, with his diabolical in 
ventiveness, suggested that they move over 
to the Metz for coffee and cause a fresh 
disturbance in that ultra-aristocratic hotel. 
A sensation should never be allowed to 
slump, said Horton Once let it get cold 
and— poof, it was gone! Beddy acquiesced, 
though with a sinking heart. He was 
weary of riots; weary of patrol wagons and 
inflamed human countenances; weary of 
jams and jeers and rough hands on his coat 
collar, But to endure them was the price 
of becoming a Man Who; and so up he 
got, with a semblance of determination. 

But as their string of taxis reached the 
imposing entrance to the Metz, and as the 
Red army descended and massed behind 
their ,barefooted leader, Beddy was a 
tounded at the lack of attention he—and 
they—excited. The door men and starters 
never turned a hair, no one gave them a 
econd look, and inside the great lobby, 
considerably filled at that hour, there was 
no such commotion as had attended their 
invasion of the Watteau-Victoria. A few 
languid fashion plates gazed at Beddy’s 
feet with supercilious surprise; a few 
lorgnettes were raised; a child pointed, and 
was suppressed—and that was all! Oh, no, 
not all! What was that big transparency 
above the long desk? Horton clutched at 


Beddy’s arm, and the pair gazed at it 
transfixed 




















GUESTS A) rAFF WILL KINDLY TREAT THI 
SHOF NSATION MONGEE 

WITH THE SILENT CONTEMPT He DESERVI 

“‘Bratzi has tipped them off,” whispered 
the journali ‘Everybody has been 
primed to ignore you. If you let them get 
away with this you will fizzle!” 

Poor Beddy felt that he was already 
fizzling. He knew how silly and ignomini- 
ous he must appear with no outraged 
management to sustain him. How could 
he roar for his rights as a citizen when they 
were thus freely accorded— with silent con- 
tempt? He had flourished on fury and 
scandal; without them he was merely a 
hotly flushing young man with dirty bare 
feet. The Red army, with obviously shaken 
confidence, followed him to the vast dining 
room. Oh, that his way might have been 
barred—but it wasn’t! A waiter took his 
order without the wiggle of an eyelash. It 
was heart-rending 

Sipping his black coffee, Beddy took 
counsel with Horton. Horton felt the 
gravity of the situation, and his confidence, 
too, was ebbing. The depressed Red army 
yawned in the doorway. Al] the News of 
the World in Pictures, sunk in gloom, were 
eating ices at an adjoining table. 

“You can’t sit here like this,’” whispered 
Horton. ‘You'll have to start some- 
thing—or die. Why not go the round of the 
tables, making a little speech at every one 








and playing up the ex-service man stuff? 
It’s your only chance in the world. Hop, 
boy, hop!” 

Beddy sprang to his feet and, with asensa- 
tion of the room swimming about him, 
stepped over to an adjoining table where 
half a dozen people were seated. There was 
a breathless instant as they stared up at 
him and he stared down at them. Then 
with the deferential and engaging air that 
came to him so easily, he said: 

“TI beg your pardon, ladies and gentle- 
men, but I am Bedford Mills, the man who 
is trying to reduce the price of shoes by 
going barefooted. Though appearances are 
against me, I ask you to believe that I am 
neither a crank nor a lunatic, but simply 
a young ex-service man who sees that some- 
thing must be done before this profiteering 
causes a revolution. I Should be greatly 
pleased to enlist any lady or gentleman in 
my crusade.”” 

There was more—very much more—but 
this was thé preamble he carried from 
table to table by way of self-introduction. 
He was extraordinarily successful. The 
friendliness and mirth at the first table 
carried him on like a fair wind to the next. 
Had he been less good-looking it might all 
perhaps have been very different. But 
Beddy, to do him justice, was a most at- 
tractive fellow, with a well-bred air and an 
irresistible smile. The women were always 
on his side. 

But in a world where even true love does 
not run smoothly Beddy’s success could 
not continue indefinitely. At the eighth or 
ninth table he roused a hornets’ nest of 
three shoe manufacturers, disguised —as he 
said afterward—as gentlemen, who had 
been awaiting his arrival with bursting 
resentment. In no time at all he was in the 
thick of a heated controversy. One of them, 
penciling fiercely on the menu, shook it in 
his face while demanding he analyze the 
figures then and there and admit on his 
knees—yes, sir, on his knees—that- twelve 
dollars was the very cheapest at which you 
could turn out a decent pair of shoes. While 
attempting to controvert this he was loudly 
assailed by the others as a Bolshevist, a Red 
and an Il. W. W as an anarchist, pro 
German and self-ad vertising soap-box hum 
bug. Insults flew so fast you couldn't 
count them. One apoplectic individual 
vociferously demanded a noose and a lamp 
post, being ready, dammit, to string up all 
such cattle single-handed. 

Growing ashamed of the din, Beddy o 
tentatiously shrugged his shoulders and 
turned away. As he did so one of the trio 
kicked him viciously in the leg. Beddy, 
pivoting, and incensed beyond control, 
struck him in the face. Over crashed the 
table. The air seemed to fill with clenched 
fists. Women screamed, waiters ran and 
there was a wild, frenzied, indiscriminate 
punching. Bing, bang! Bleeding noses 
and blackened eyes! Upraised gilt chairs, 
dodging heads and flying crockery! Pande- 
monium, more pandemonium, superpan- 
demonium! Then the combatants were 
torn apart, rumpled, disheveled, collarless 
and gasping for breath. Then police, 
notebooks, incoherent explanations and a 
headlong exodus to the patrol wagon. 

At the police court charges and counter- 
charges were entered in a greasy tome; and 
while the manufacturers were telephoning 
frantically for legal aid Beddy leaned back 
on a bench in a state of agreeable lassit ude 
His mouth was swollen; one ear felt as 
though it had been torn off; his side ached; 
the knuckles of his left hand were badly 
sprained—yet he was happy, blissfully 
happy. He had not fizzled; he had not 
succumbed to silent contempt; he had 
kept his following busy and together when 
they had been on the eve of disintegration. 
So he rested peacefully, with the pleasant 
assurance of still being in the public eye 

Theirs was the last case to be called, and 
the magistrate, as he gazed at Beddy’s 
feet, wore an expression of entertainment. 
The magistrate had an Irish name and an 
Irish sense of humor, and he could hardly 
keep his face decorous as the eminent Mr. 
Peabody Quinn, himself broadly smiling, 
began to outline his clients’ complaint. 
Eminent counsel had not relished his call 
to this trumpery affair, and he revenged 
himself by an exaggeration of epithet and 
description that made everyone titter. He 
had not gone far before the magistrate 
interrupted him. 

“The court hesitates to interrupt so dis- 
tinguished an orator in one of his finest 
flights,”’ he said, ‘‘ but the hour is late and 
the matter at issue seerns comparatively 
unimportant. The court suggests that these 


THE SATURDAY 


EVENING POST 


gentlemen, all of whom seem to be at fault, 
should withdraw their respective charges 
and shake hands.” 

“Amen!” exclaimed Mr. Quinn in his 
booming voice; and with that the pro- 
ceedings terminated in general hilarity. 

It was dusk by the time Beddy got home 
in a taxi, with all the evening papers, which 
he had bought by the way, bundled under 
his arm. He found Mrs. Briggs in tears and 
Cooper and Haynes in a state of inappeas 
able wrath. The joint establishment was 
to be dissolved at once. Cooper and Haynes 
could not continue living with a barefooted 
idiot. They were explosively indignant, 
and demanded to have the question of the 
player piano settled at once. Would Beddy 
buy them out, or would they buy him out? 

But Beddy was in no condition to discuss 
the fate of joint player pianos. He was so 
tired that he staggered in his walk. His 
back ached, his side ached, his sprained 
knuckles ached and his feet were burning 
as though they had been seared with hot 
iron. Mrs. Briggs rubbed them with ba- 
con fat while he lay on a sofa—a Samari- 
tan act which roused Cooper and Haynes 
to fresh paroxysms of exasperation. But to 
Beddy their talk was no more than a mean- 
ingless buzzing. He was too exhausted for 
either sarcasm or insult to hurt him. Wea- 
rily he glued himself to the evening papers 
while Mrs. Briggs rubbed in that healing 
balm. 

He was on the front page of every 
paper—columns and columns of him, under 
staring headlines. His name sprang out at 
him with horrible distinctness, and it was 
like being skinned alive to read the stuff 
He was represented as a ludicrous young 
fool who was convulsing the town with his 
absurdities—a sort of Happy Hooligan 
who had risen in the flesh from the comic 
supplement. He was own brother to Pup 
and Jup; he was a Hoogleboogle Kid, 
grown up. The only oasis in this howling 
desert of derision was an editorial in the 
New York Evening Tory, headed “An 
Ominous Manifestation.”” Beddy was the 
ominous manifestation—the first of the 
new sans-culottes invading the haunts of an 
aristocracy too stupid to tremble. A guil 
lotine in Times Square was darkly hinted 
at. Although this was scarcely the out 
come Beddy had planned for his crusade, 
he was pleased nevertheles That edi- 
torial was spiritual bacon fat for his smart- 
ing soul. 

Horton, arriving later to interview him, 
was no less comforting. Horton said that 
in all his experience he had never seen such 
astir. He said solemnly that it was symp- 
tomatic, and astonished Beddy by adding 
that the New York Evening Tory was not 
altogether wrong in its alarm. 

‘It’s because everybody is so sore about 
these prices that you make a sensation,” 
he went on. “‘You are putting into action 
what is more or less floating in ever ; 
mind. In 1914 who would have ¢ 
doit whether you went barefooted or not? 
Now, though the press is guying you to 
death, it feels the immense ground swell 
of public opinion on your side. See how 
lenient those magistrates were! Look at 
the way the Metz knuckled under! Why, 
even the police handled you with kid 
glove And it is all due—every bit of 
it is due —to the same ground swell of out 
raged millions!” 

The ground swell, however, was very 
poorly apparent in the morning paper 
The space they gave Beddy—and they 
gave it without stint—seemed but for 
elbow room to laugh him to scorn. The 
ridicule was merciles As Beddy 
he was more than ever in the class of those 
egregious heroes of the Sunday sup. The 
nickname was universal, and with the use 
of it he seemed almost to hear the accom 
panying guffaws. 

As Beddy read those endless columns hi 
skin seemed to peel off and hang from him 
in strips An excruciating humiliation 
afflicted every particle of his being. His 
heart swelled to his throat. He visualized 
St. John Jessop at breakfast, combining 
grilled bacon with grilled Beddy; visu 
alized Helen—no, no, no! He could not 
bear to pursue the thought. Putting both 
hands to his head and clutching his hair, he 
rocked to and fro in an utter abandonment 
of despair. 

But he had still the Morning Clarion, 
which with premonition he had put byeto 
the last. Nor was he disappointed. Horton 
had drawn a picture of a young Don 
Quixote, simple-minded and sincere, who 
innocently believed he could track the 





ody N 


ared a 











farefoot 


(Continued on Page 61 





Its Queer 
About Druggists 


So many people seem to have it in 
for them Manufacture 
roist declines to ce 


1utt 
which he pays $5000 


of drugs get 
sore because a drt 
vote a window, tor 


rent, to display he manufacture 


goods just because the druggist knows 
the article tsn’t much good and nobody 
Wants it 
‘ , 
Girls edve into a three d ep crowd at 
and complain 





ibout 


a soda fountain 


lruggist be 


Self dosers blame. the 


cau one of the wenty odd thousand 

} j +. 8 
remed he carrie stock Gdldn t hap 
pen to mneciae with th amateul 
} Gdlagnosi 


Lots ot peopk don't isk for what 
thes want by name and then talk 


about substitution. 
Is there any more u seful, conve nient, 
indispensable store than your nearest 


r il 


iruguist ¢ 


Study the people in a drug store: \ 
haggard faced tather, frantic tor the 
pl cription which mav Save a ‘baby’s 
life \ dainty miss, Silt htly embat 
ra d in her first quest of beauty aids 

pers seeking the sundae that 
cheers. Happy children spending then 
dimes and youths nonchalantly squan 


dering the Ir day s earnings on vir] s vuSt 


] “a 1) 
starting their careers as “Gold Dig 
vers.’ A sidewalk accident rushed 1n 
for first aid 

; , ee 
It a cheery, « cal clal center ial 


guardian of health—an tnexhaustible 
: , 
provider of almost anything you need 


ps to the thing 


| am tlad to Say a vood word for 





lruggists in general because pretty 
nearly every nul one of them from 
Marine to the Vlexi an bor ler keeps 


' 
Mennen Shaving Cream promune ntly 
displayed. That is because every drug 
nst knows that a larg proportion ol 
his mal ustomel! would no more 
think of shaving with anvthing but 
Mennen’s than they would of trying to 


raise a bear be 


it you doubt that tatement, sen 


15 cent 


(Mennen Salesman) 


THe Mennen Company 
Newaan, J. USA 








THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


January 1,192! 











Douglas Fir 
Northern White Pine 
Idaho White Pine 
Western Soft Pine 


Western Hemlock 
Washington Red Cedar 
Red Fir and Larch 
Norway Pine 


HOW CHOOSING THE RIGHT WOOD MAY DOUBLE 


THE SERVICE YOU GET FROM LUMBER 


"| cannot conceive at this time of a greater service 
to more people than to put order and system into the 


marketing of lumber.’’ 


This was said recently by one of the great 
industrial men of America. 


He spoke as a buyer and user of lumber— 
thinking of the needs of industrial America, the 
big construction plans and the great era of 
home-building ahead; of the fact that every 
building project involves the use of lumber 
wholly or in part; and that the question touches 
every farm, every business, every town and city 
in the land. 


Wood is the natural building material of America, 
just as stone is of France and Italy. 


It is a startling fact that the service value of the 
average purchase of lumber could be increased 
100%, if the buyer chose the most practical wood 


for a given purpose. 


Putting order and system into the lumber busi- 
ness means wood in its right place. 


It means selecting the kind of wood best suited 
for a given use. 

It means specifying the grade best adapted for 
the job. 


As substantial factors in the lumber business the 
Weyerhaeuser people wish to render real service 
to you and to everyone who uses lumber. 


To this end we will supply to lumber dealers 
and to the public any desired information as to the 
qualities of different species and the best wood for 
a given purpose. 

This service will be as broad and impartial as 
we know how to make it. We are not partisans 
of any particular species of wood. We advise the 
best lumber for the purpose, whether it is a kind 
we handle or not. 


What we advocate is conservation and economy 
through the use of the right wood in its proper 
place. 

If we could insure your getting the wood you 
eught to have, it might mean a difference of years 
in the life and service of the lumber—fifty years 
perhaps as against a few months. So important is 
the selection of the right wood or grade of wood 


for a given use. 


From now on the Weyerhaeuser Forest Products 
trade-mark will be plainly stamped on their prod- 
uct. You can see it for yourself at the lumber yard 
or on the job after it is delivered. 


When you buy lumber for any purpose, no 
matter how much or how little, you can look at 
the mark and know that you are getting a standard 
article of known merit. 


WEYERHAEUSER FOREST PRODUCTS 
SAINT PAUL: MINNESOTA 


Producers of Douglas Fir, Western Hemlock, Washington Red Cedar and Cedar Shingles on the 
Pacific Coast; Idaho White Pine, Western Soft Pine, Red Fir and Larch in the Inland Empire; 
Northern White Pine and Norway Pine in the Lake States. 
























<a Te 


t 
) 
iv 








(Continued from Page 59) 
dragon of H. C. L. to his lair and per- 
sonally slay him amid the plaudits of the 
multitude. It was gayly written; brightly 
and sympathetically written; and its vivid 
little touches of character and dialogue 
lifted it out of the rut of ordinary reporting. 
It enormously restored Beddy to his own 
self-esteem. It enabled him to endure 
an agonizing breakfast with Cooper and 
Haynes. Later it strengthened him to re- 
sist a fond woman’s tears, as Mrs. Briggs, 
with her devoted old face all screwed up, 
hysterically besought him to bring no 
further disgrace en his head. 

In the lobby he found a shrunken follow- 
ing aw: 1iting his descent—five or six in 
place of the little army of the day before. 
Horton had sent a substitute— and excuses. 
All the News of the World in Pictures was 
conspicuously absent. It looked to Beddy 
as though he had outlived his newspaper 
welcome. Inconsistently, he felt depressed 
and aggrieved. His plan, too, of invading 
the Fifth Avenue shoe stores suddenly ap- 
peared to him as lacking in originality; yet 
without Horton’s unfailing inventiveness 
he could think of no better. It was in a 
gloomy humor that he sallied forth, scowl- 
ing at the passers-by as they nudged one 
another and whispered, ‘“‘That’s him 
that’s Beddy Barefoot!’’ The press had 
introduced him to New York’s millions, 
and he was now endowed with the ambig- 
uous celebrity of ‘Say, look, that’s him 
that’ Ss Be dc ly Bare foot !’ : 

He was very miserable, very forlorn and 
lonely; and, to make matters worse, he 
could not get Helen out of his head. How 
was her liking ever to survive this ignomini- 
ous fame? In imagination he saw her 
fastidious lips curl; saw her lovely, shocked 
eyes. She had craved a Man Who, and he 
had given her— Beddy Barefoot! Or had 
she demanded the impossible merely to get 
rid of him? Had it not been, perhaps, a 
cruel subterfuge ? And if so how idiotic it 
had been of him to take her at her word, 
discovering the truth when it was too late 
to stop and borne on by a momentum 
of pride. 

Then he remembered he must smile. All 
the papers had commented on his irresist- 
ible smile. So he grinned and grinned, 
feeling like the Cheshire cat in the picture 
book of his infancy; grinned and grinned 
while his feet ached and his heart grew 
heavier and heavier. But it became a real 
smile a few blocks farther on, when he 
first snarled up the traffice—the fighting 
smile of a Man Who whose blood was 
mounting. He whiffed battle. There was 
an encouraging tramp and jostle behind 
him. He knew he had regained his follow- 
ing. He had only to stop for it to flood into 
the Avenue and congest everything. 

At the first shoe store on his way there 
was a terrible crush as he entered its por- 
tals. Hundreds followed him, pressing at 
his heels. It was like a wave bursting intoa 
cavern. An indignant manager met him 
indignant, scandalized and just a little 
cowed. Yes, sir, they had inexpensive 
It didn’t matter what kind so long 
as they were cheap? George, show the 
gentleman those marked-down Oxfords. 
William, get these people out of here 
gettimout, gettimout! But William, though 
he tried, couldn’t gettimout. Instead they 
packed in closer than ever, while the win- 
dows outside darkened with more, and 
green omnibuses floundered and stopped 
in a sea o: heads. Twelve dollars, sir. But 
you said they were marked down! yes, 
sir, certainly sir—marked down from six 
teen. The tag 

Then Beddy exploded oratorically. It 
was outrageous, it was intolerable, it was 
profiteering gone crazy! His voice rose as 
base persons in the crowd booed and cat- 
called in an indiscrimination that was pos- 
sibly meant to favor the champion of the 
people. Manager and clerks rejoined heat- 
edly. Arguments became insults; and in- 
sults personalities. Faces crimsoned and 
fists clenched. William blew deafeningly 
an a police whistle. 

Base persons yelled: ‘‘ Hook it, 
Hook it, Beddy Barefoot!” 

It was good advice, and Beddy took it, 
but with dignity and without precipitation, 
dropping his assumed anger like an actor 
coming off the stage. He was learning the 
technic of systematic trouble making. 
When an altercation had reached a certain 
temperature which might be allegoric ally ex- 
pressed as ninety-nine centigrade, he left 
left just before boiling point. Indeed, he 
contrived, with great ‘skill, to keep within 
the fatal one hundred degrees all along the 


shoes. 


seddy! 





Avenue, and emerged unscathed and smil- 
ing from places where a less practiced hand 


might have perished. The police, it must 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


be admitted, were strangely tolerant, evi- | 


dently under orders from P. H. Q. 
regarded him stonily, but lifted not a finger. 
In a fuller sense than to most celebrities 


They | 


Beddy had been accorded the freedom of | 


the city. 


| 
Thus he proceeded from shoe store to 


shoe store on a task that at last became 
almost commonplace. Surging in at the 


head of his followers, he would ask to be | 


shown some inexpensive shoes; would be 
horrified at the price; would give vehe- 
ment vent to his dissatisfaction; and then, 
raising the ensuing altercation slowly to 
ninety-nine degrees C., would leave in the 
nick of time. The program scarcely varied. 
It functioned with machinelike precision till 
noon, when an extraordinary thing hap- 
pened. 

It was the hour when the sweatshop 
army, having descended in its myriads 
from innumerable lofts, econgests the pave- 
ments of Fifth Avenue while it enjoys its 
brief leisure. It is a huge, surly, ill-dressed, 
ill-favored mob, which idles, smokes, spits 
and soils with its dingy presence the most 
fashionable thoroughfare in the world. 
Although besought in fourteen languages, 
and in the most urgent, emphatic type, to 
hide itself on the side streets and not impair 
real-estate values, the army defiantly masses 
daily on holy Fifth, refusing—as the family 
skeleton—to hide itself in the cupboard. 

Beddy, emerging from a shoe store, gave 
it nospecial thought. There is nothing novel 
to a New Yorker in the sweatshop army, 
which he accepts as he does snowdrifts or 
torn-up streets or any other obstacle to prog- 
ress. It was only when the army began to 
cheer him that Beddy awakened to its ex- 
istence. Yes, to his amazement they were 
cheering him, splitting their throats in 
hoarse, shrill bellows, extending their grimy 
hands and belaboring him on the back with 
excited friendliness. 

t was a spontaneous ovation, startling 
and tremendous, which he carried with him 
like the swirling center of a tornado as he 
struggled through the press. 

It was inexpressibly elating, embarrass- 
ing and absurd. These poor ninnies, in 
their simp licity, were taking him seriously 
as a champion of the oppressed. Hip, 
hip, zoom, boom—vivas, huzzas—in ear- 
splitting proximity; sallow, bearded faces 
reddening with excitement; guttural bless- 
ings called down on him from fourteen 
separate heavens; his arm a pump handle 
as in tousled and hatless triumph, and not 
without the aspect of being dragged to a 
lynching, he ran the gantlet of fame. 

And there were blocks on blocks of it; 
blocks on blocks of cheers, outcry and 
heart-stirring, pulse-thumping 
3eddy, who had at first thought of escap- 
ing, saw that he had to see it through. Soon 
he was enjoying it; was drunk with it as he 
carried these thunders down the Avenue 
and heard them bursting about him with 
the measure of a stupendous surf. The 
high-up windows filled; motors in droves 
came to a standstill to watch the sight 
New York in years had never seen any- 
thing so sensational as Beddy’s progress 
from Thirty-fifth Street to Twenty-third. 

But in the very zenith of it all, whom 
hould he see, by one of those miracles 
of coincidence, but Helen Jessop! She was 
standing on the rear seat of her arrested 
landaulet, with one gloved hand on her 
father’s shoulder, a lovely, slender patri 
cian gazing at the mob with an air of 
amused disdain. Pride radiated from her, 
spread about her like an aura in her tapes- 
tried nest pride of race and caste, wealth 
and elegance, distinction, beauty—a pride 
that was just a little petulant, a beauty 
that was just a little cold in its blond 
perfection, though never had she seemed 
to Beddy more intolerably beautiful than 
at that moment when her eyes met his in 
amazed recognition. It was but for the 
briefest instant through a rift of heads, a 
glance caught and lost again; but the 
piercing memory of it remained with him 
like a dagger in his side. 

His exhilaration vanished, and a be- 
numbing misery took its place. 
himself as he was, disgraced, humiliated by 
this grotesque ovation, a ludicrous parody 
of a Man W ho. And it was she—she in the 
pitiless power she had over him—who had 
cast him into this furnace. But it was no 
sise e to consider the wounds of the heart. 
His inexhaustible admirers were shattering 
his eardrums and grabbing at his person in 
tireless relays. He had to grimace, pretend 





acclaim. | 


He saw | 














CLEAN COAL AND 
WHAT IT MEANS 


ESIDE the loading tip ple of one of The iF 0% 
Company’s big mines, there stands a tremendous mound 


Consolidation Coal 


It looks so much like coal that the 
It really ts not 
coal, Piled ton 
1 oe ! 
upon ton that would cost many thousands of dollars to haul to 


that closely resembles coal. 
ordinary layman would probably buy it as such. 
but slate—-a waste substance of no fuel value. 
tidewater, it stands there, a silent testimonial to our tradition and 


our ideal that Consolidation Coal must be clean coal. 


rom the first days of its ope ration, The Consolidation Coal 
Company has invariably supplied clean coal to its customers. No 
matter what the condition of the times, we have unfailingly sent 
from our mines only the fuel from which slate, rock, bone, dirt 
and sulphur balls had Sulphur balls 
about one-third as much heat as the same weight of coal, but the 


been removed. produce 


other impurities which we eliminate have practically no heating 
value. They 
coal consumer 
rate charged for real fuel. 

Only the 
tradition in the miners can prod 


worthless material bought by the 
at the 


repres¢ nt mere 


in uncleaned coal same price and freight 


; 
closest inspection and consistent instilling of thi 


ice clean coal. 


In the midst of war, when the Government controlled the fuel 
industry, all mines were ordered to produce clean coal. Becaus 
necessitated no change for us. 


of our fixed practice, the order 


In the pe riod of fuel shortage when many consumers Were gla 


and anxious to purchase “‘anything that was black,” we adhere 


to the Consolidation standard. 
Clean coal maintains the reputation of our Company, provide 
our customers with maximum fuel vaiue for money expended, 


and produces a feeling of institutional pride every part of th 


Consolidation organization, 


THE CONSOLIDATION 
COAL COMPANY 


INCORPORATED 


Pankers Trust Pralding New York City 











62 


to be gratified, exert his lame and aching 
arm. The worst day in the Argonne would 
have been paradise to this. 

But nothing lasts forever Freedom 
came; luncheon in a marble morgue with 
paper ¢ ubs, who vied in sug 
gestions for his afternoon But Beddy 
would have none of them teddy was tired; 

feet were burning; and there was al- 

; that dagger in his side. Nor was he 

any mood to persecute more shoe stores 
He was tired of shoe stores—of harangues, 
convulsed faces and insults. He pined for 
peace, and decided, as the nearest ap- 
proach to it, to take a ride in the park To 
ride in the park would still keep him in the 
affording an interlude in 


chummy new 


public eye while 
} ; miserable 
I'he knew him at Dalton’s, where he 
often hired a mount on Saturdays and 
Sundays; | w him in faultless breeches 
and boo an excellent rider and very 
liberal wi th his tips. These last now served 
him well as he made his scarecrow appear 
ance. Old Sam, grinning from ear to ear, 
saddled Bessie for him—Bessie, the best 
horse in the stable and given to only a few 
favored riders. The twilight of the place 
and the self-absorption of the other riders 
made it easy for Beddy to come and go 
with comparatively little attention. But 
in the open air he regained his celebrity; 
regained it much more than he could have 
wished. Fortunately Bessie was a spirited 
animal, and the sensation he made on her 
was not wholly ignominiou The more 
people stared and tittered the more he 
showed off his military horsemanship. It 
alved the gnawing bitterness within him 
to rouse Bessie to frenzy. They were both 
in a bad temper, and fought each other all 
round the park 

It was about five when he returned home 
Jake, the colored elevator boy, said that a 
lady had left a card for him, and fumblingly 
produced it. There was some penciling on 
it which had suffered from being rubbed in 
Jake's pocket, but the engraved name stood 
out with paralyzing distinctness— Miss 
Helen Jessop: 


“ Beddy: Don't ever see me again. Don't 
ever think of me again. Don't write or 
telephone or bow or even look as though 
you had ever known me. Words cannot ex 
press the finality of this farewell. H. J,’ 


‘Fierce, ain't * said Jake, who had 
evidently absorbed the blurred message 
“She was so awful mad that she gave me a 
dollar,” 

The boy would have contributed further 
chuckling reminiscences had not Beddy 
turned to the stairway to escape him. He 
ran up three steps at a time in a state of 
mind that baffles all description; in such 
rage and misery, resentment and despair 
that he moaned aloud. Helen had thrown 
him over; had ended everything between 
them. - And with what cruelty, with what 
utter heartlessness, and not even screening 
in an envelope the terms of his dismissal! 

But what was the matter with the apart 
ment? The familiar sitting room had dis 
appeared. It was bare, carpetless, almost 
denuded of furniture. The rugs were gone, 
the curtains were gone, chairs, table, divan 
desk, Persian lamp-—-all had flown. Beddy 
needed no sobbing Mrs. Briggs to explair 
what had happened. With a provision of 
possible parting, each of the partners had 
contributed from his dwn po ket There 
had been an individual ownership in every 
thing except the piano, That was why it 
had been left, of course; that was why 
there still remained a picture of an un 
draped lady, a rocking-chair, a bookcase, 
a cellaret, a German helmet, two crossed 
bayonets and an engraving of Rheims 
Cathedral 

Mrs. Briggs, in tears, told him that Mr 
Cooper and Mr. Haynes had left. My, and 
the things they had said! It was awful 
boohoo! And they had left it to him to 
decide about the piano; they would buy 
him out or let him buy them out, and 
they wanted to know about it at once 
and about the lease. Would he please ring 
up Prospect 2249 between six and eight? 
Oh, it was awful—they who had all been 
so happy together And what 
boohoo—about the kitchen things, which 
had been bought in common? Mr. Cooper 
and Mr. Haynes particularly wanted to 
know about the kitchen things, having 
none of their own to go on with. And what 
about Mrs. Briggs herself, who, like the 
piano, had been held in thirds? What was 
to become of Mrs. Briggs in the upheaval? 
Would Beddy please say at once, though 
she had quite made up her mind to go with 


} ' 
boohoo 


THE SATURDAY 


Mr. Cooper and Mr. Haynes. She was 
too self-respecting to work for a barefooted 
young man whose name was in all the 
papers like a murderer, and they had a nice 
room for her in the new apartment, with 
southern ex 

But what were those strange heaps in 
the shadow of the wull that looked like 
dumped-out sugar or something? Oh, 
those were the letters! Hadn't she told him 
about the letters? Thousands and thou- 
sands of them, and telegrams. More tele- 
grams than she had ever seen in her whole 
life. That’s how they had come, in sacks 
and sacks, with the mail carrier half crazy 
and the bell ringing every other minute 
There was the bell now—more of those 
dreadful telegrams! Well, he could sign for 
them himself; Mrs. Briggs was through; 
Mrs. Briggs was quitting; it had only been 
a sense of dooty that had kept her till his 
arrival. Beddy noticed for the first time 
that she was attired for immediate de- 
parture, and as he opened the door to a 
messenger boy she disappeared. 

There were four telegrams, which Beddy 
opened and read with a wondering brow 


“CHATTANOOGA, TENN 
‘Fired by your splendid example and 
with enthusiastic permission of faculty, 
Class One, Jackson Military School, ple dg ~ 
itself to go barefooted for one month 


“OAKVILLE Forks, IA 
‘Welldone! Bravo! Goit, Beddy Bare- 
foot! Hurrah, nine of us, four ladies, cast 
off our shoes to-day and march with you 
till the battle is won! ELMER SWAN.” 


‘Los ANGELES, CAI 
‘Assembled Southern California astrolo 
gers and phrenologists in biggest conclave 
ever seen south of the Tehachapi applaud 
your efforts and appoint special barefoot 
committee to enlist adherents, beginning 
with seventeen and growing like prairie 
fire. Unsurpassed climate of world’s garden 

spot makes crusade a pleasure as well 
high publieduty. Cordially and fraternally, 

““ORRIS NORDHEIM, Hon. Sec.” 


““GERONA, N. M 
‘Lonely one-lunger, exiled but in longing 
touch with world movements, feels even 
here the throb of your superb purpose, and 
lays in mind if not in person her homage 
at your fearless feet. Also husband 
‘Mrs. H. F. WELKINRINGER.” 


Beddy had the feeling of a man in a 
dream. It was all like one of those incredi 
bilities when you touch yourself to make 
sure you are awake. Moving toward the 
wall, he surveyed the mass of letters and 
telegrams with a wonder that was almost 
awe. To think that they were all for him! 
That his name was on every one, and 
within an unknown voice seeking him out 
of the void! He opened one at random 


‘'Dear Mr. Mills: Having excessively 
tender feet, should I be violating the spirit 
of the crusade by wearing moccasins to and 
from business made by a deserving blind 
man in the neighborhood? I am employed 
is a bookkeeper in the Ajax Pump Works, 
where everybody is greatly interested 
Hoping for a reply at your earliest cor 
venience, Sincerely yours, 

‘Miss Birpie Conan 
Halworth Street, Chicag 


He picked up another: 
““LATAPIE, NORTH DAKOTA 
‘Dear Exalted and Supreme Ruler: Hav 
ing just organized a Bedford Mills Club 
with a hundred and fifty ardently enthusi 
astic young business men and women, we 
desire to obtain a charter and official 
recognition Please reply collect, wit! 
rousing telegram Eric OLSEN.” 


There was another ring at the door, and 
Beddy went, not very willingly, to open it 
But it was not a messenger boy with more 
telegrams, but a young lady, very pink and 
confused, whom he was astonished to re« 
ognize as Miss Félice Turner. Her voice 
was a little breathless as she spoke and 
her di ark eyes were shining. 

I am Miss Turner, who has the 
studio on this floor,” she said, struggling 
against an obvious timidity. ‘And, being 
very impulsive, as I hope you are-—as all 
really nice people are, don’t you think? 
i—I just wanted to tell you that I am one 
of your warmest admirers, and i 

She stopped in the most captivating dis- 
tress, as though had he not smiled she 
would have turned and fled. 


EVENING POST 


“Please come in,” said Beddy, himself 
flushing from an intensity of pleasure, and 
almost as confused as his attractive visitor. 
She was so deliciously girlish, piquant and 
shyly daring that his heart filled with 
elation. He murmured something about 
her great kindness; that he was flattered 
beyond expression, and so on. But it was 
the cadence, not the words, that consti- 
tuted his response and gave it the warmth 
of smitten young manhood. 

“‘Oh, I meant more than that,’’ she con- 
tinued, entering, but with one hand timidly 
on the door as though appealing to him not 
to close it. ‘“‘] want to take you back to my 
studio and give you a cup of tea—and 
dinner later—and afterward, if you think 
I type well enough, may I be your secre- 
tary? Surely you need one.” 

They both laughed as they regarded 

those heaps and heaps of letters and tele- 
grams. Beddy hardly knew what he said 
it was all so gay and happy and unexpected 
and delightful. And he needn’t wash his 
hands or prink, but come as he was, and 
receive first aid and eat electric toast and 
be waited on hand and foot like a knight of 
old after a particularly trying vow. Still 
talking eagerly, and in a glow of tumul- 
tuously mutual liking, they walked down 
the long hall to the studio door, which 
Félice opened and made him enter first. 

It was the most oddly beautiful room 
that Beddy had ever seen, quivering with 
vivid colors that ought to have clashed but 
instead were intriguingly harmonious, spar- 
ingly but most invitingly fur-i hed with 
furniture that had been paint w stained 
in the same bewildering key of brilliancy. 
There were yellow Chinese rugs on the 
black floor; the ceiling was yellow; and the 
walls, where they showed between gleam- 
ing old embroideries, were of a strange pea- 
cock blue. Here and there was a picture of 
fantastic incoherence, glittering like a panel 
of jewels, Enjoying his exclamations, and 
saying something about hoping that he, too, 
was a modernist —whatever that meant 
Félice led him to a divan and, taking no 
denial, made him lie his length on it while 
she propped up his head with pillows. 

Then she retired for a minute, returning 
with a long linen smock over her dress, and 
proceeded to arrange a little tea table, cut- 
ting bread for toast and uncovering the 
most appetizing of strawberry jam; and 
all this so archly and prettily that Beddy, 
commanded to silence, felt as though he 
were in a seventh heaven and entertained 
by an angel. 

Across the tea table it seemed the most 
natural thing in the world he should be 
telling her everything about himself 
everything, that is, except about Helen, 
whom he tried to omit from his thoughts 
Why spoil the present? A_ heartache 
ignored might become a _ heartache for- 
gotten. It was already extraordinarily 

suaged. Félice had such understanding, 
such humor, such warm, quick sympathy 
that just to be with her was to be hap py. 
If she were not so beautiful as Helen, she 
was certainly maddeningly attractive. You 
felt somehow that if she cared for anyon 
her love wouk 1 have a protective quality; 
that her instinct would be to close her arms 
about the man she loved and try to protect 
him from every harm, no matter at what 
cost to herself. Beddy endeavored to tell 
her this and, though he expressed himself 
poorly, she colored with pleasure. The 
great profundities vied with the strawberry 
jam and electric toast. When Beddy was 
dismissed it was with the conviction that 
Félice Turner was the most wonderful gir] 
he had ever known. 

He returned later in evening clothes, 
looking very fresh and restored, and enjoy- 
ing what seemed almost a treachery to his 
principles—silk socks and pumps. Félice, 
too, had changed—into a shimmering, shin- 
ing blue garment she said was mermaid's 
skin and which fitted her almost as closely. 
Its really-truly name was a delphos, and 
the ancient Greek women had worn it 
Beddy was asked to recall it on statues, but 
he couldn't, never having seen any statues 
to speak of except the highly tailored cast 
iron of New York’s great departed and 

the sumptuous young Eves which decorate 

Pacis. He was gazing at it, entranced, and 
just a trifle abashed at the apparent ab- 
sence of anything save Félice beneath it 

Then there was a little dinner in the 
coziest of dining rooms—casserole chicken 
with mushrooms and potatoes, a salad, 
a small bottle of California champagne, and 
some fruit and French pastry; such an ex- 
cellent little dinner, and so gay, with such 
swift advances in intimacy ‘and mutual 


January 1,192! 


confidences. Beddy confessed that he had 
admired Félice for months and would have 
given his soul for an introduction; while 
she admitted, in shades as fine as the tex- 
ture of a soap bubble, that his desire had 
been no less ardently reciprocated. Inci- 
dentally he learned that she was the 
youngest of three sisters, and had broken 
away from her family to be independent 
and earn her own living as a designer while 
studying art; and how at first they had 
tried to starve her into submission and 
then had gone to the other extreme of 
giving her too big an allowance. 

“That wretched thousand a month has 
been the ruin of me,” she said. “At first 
I was too poor, and now I am too rich, and 
feel equally aggrieved. The thankless child, 
you know, that was even a bother in the 
Bible—with bobbed hair, probably, and 
yearnings to carve rocks and live a freer 
life in Babylon.” 

3eddy wondered at her frankness in thus 
speaking of her allowance. It hardly 
seemed to accord with her delicate reserve. 
But a little later, as they had finished their 
black coffee in the studio, he was to dis- 
cover why. His heart was fluttering. The 
situation was one that might have impelled 
the least forward of young men to rashness. 
His hand, almost of its own volition, sud- 
denly closed over hers. But before any- 
thing more could follow she had daunted 
him with her wide-open eyes. Outvardly 

—_ her voice was a little breathless as she 
took his hand in both her own and laid it 
back like a package to where she said it 
belonged. 

That was not what they were there for 
at all, she remarked. Not that she was 
against holding hands. Holding hands had 
its place, of course—a rapturous place; but 
they were there just now to set their minds 
on _ r things. 

hat, for instance, did Beddy Barefoot 
intend to do about all those stacks and 
stacks and stacks of letters and telegrams? 
This, in fact, was to be a business talk of the 
businessiest kind, and would Mister Bare- 
foot kindly give her question an immediate 
consideration and reply to same at earliest 
convenience? 

Mister Barefoot ran his hands through 
his auburn locks and, much ruffled, both in 
hair and spirit, said that for the life of him 
he had not the faintest idea what to do. 

‘And there will be tons more to- 
morrow,”’ continued Félice. 

Beddy murmured something about its 
being awful, and that he would soon have 
toc mb over them like an Alpine climber 
and buy himself snowshoes to get to bed. 

“That's what I meant by saying we had 
to set our minds on higher things,”’ said 
Félice. “‘We must grapple with the prob- 
lem instead of ignoring it. To hold hands 
now would be as bad as sailors breaking 
into the spirit room of a sinking ship. 
Please arrange yourself to look like Rodin’s 
Penseur while listening to wisdom from the 
mouths of babes and sucklings.’ 

Beddy said he could listen better if per- 
mitted to smoke a cigar. Might he smoke 
a . cigar, unless of course babes and suck- 

ngs—no, they would like it. Well, this 
was the idea—her idea—to get Sarah But- 
- or, with her three girls and the mimeograph 

thing, and install them in Beddy’s apart- 
ment. Make an office of it, you know, from 
iine to six, with four expert stenographers, 
oad the mimeograph reeling off form letters 
by thousands a minute, with a nice little 
pink boy running his little legs off to mail 
them as they dropped from the machinery. 

This rather confused statement took time 
to shape itself succinctly in the Penseur’s 
head. Sarah Butler, it seemed, was a young 
college girl, a chum of Félice’s, who had, 
started an efficiency bureau. Sarah was a 
miracle of trained expertness and whatsis- 
name; organized you while you waited 
ind doubled your income by rearranging 
your chairs. Show Sarah chaos, and in two 
hours everything would be card indexed, 
and she could tell you where the hatpin was 
you lost last year in the Subway. Oh, a 
marvelous person! 

But had Beddy ever noticed that all or- 
ganizing geniuses are apt to be a little 

sharp, lacking in suavity and getting-on- 
ness with people? Sarah was not doing we! 
at all; wasn’t prospering, you know. Only 
yesterday she had spoken rather dismally 
about her prospects. People seemed to pre- 
fer chaos to her energetic efforts. Even 
making lots more money was less tempting 
than getting rid of Sarah—after she had 
once started. That was why this job 

Beddy’s job—would be such a godsend to 

(Concluded on Page 67 


= 


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gros 











tg SAR orem ST Ass 



















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THE SATURDAY EVENING January 1,192! 

















ee. ry 
. 


— 
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— Mee 


























THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 



















‘The Car VUhat Is Just 
A Little Better All Around! 


T is the Overland theory that one suffers far more from overstating 


the facts than from understating the truth. Exaggeration destroys 
confidence. Modesty creates it. We would rather earn a reputation for 
temperate statement than make claims that we cannot fulfil. The Overland 
is a good car. It is a car that is just a little more economical in its fuel 
requirements —just a little lighter in its tire bills—just a little more 
complete in its equipment —yust a little better in its machining —just 
a little better in its upholstery —just a little better in all things that make 
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WILLYS-OVERLAND, INC., TOLEDO, OHIO 
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Willys-Overland Limited, Toronto, Canada The John N. Willys Export Corporation, New York 










































THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


BUN 


(( 


CENTRIFUGAL } > ROTARNeP 





eK o 


N the banks of the Ravi in the 

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Si. . 


Drawn from a photograph of 
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January 1,192! 






(Concluded from Page 62) 
her, and Félice guaranteed it would be 
done to perfection. What did Beddy think 


about it? Might she telephone to Sarah 
and arrange it all? There was more than a 
hint that the “‘all’’ was to be at Félice’s ex- 
pense—disguised assistance to a chum in 
distress. 

Beddy said he would jump at it. Why, 
to get Miss Butler would be like lifting a 
nightmare off his chest! If she could dig 
holes in that avalanche, for heaven’s sake 
let her dig! In the exuberance of his grati- 
tude he would have knelt down then and 
there and kissed Félice’s sandals. 

Félice’s idea was to supply Sarah with 
half a dozen form letters and form tele- 
grams, which might be varied in trifles to 
suit the circumstances. God-bless-you let- 
ters, you know, with a pat on the back 
in them. Go-to-it letters, bursting with 
whoop and enthusiasm. 

Beddy said it was a splendid idea and, 
returning to his rooms, brought back as 
much of that unopened correspondence as 
he could carry in a bath towel. For an 
hour this was sorted over and analyzed, 
and then they commenced to concoct the 
form answers— concocting themwith giggles 
and in an animated out-loud competition 
that often ended in peals of laughter. It 
was the jolliest evening Beddy had ever 
spent, and when the task was done both he 
and Félice were surprised to find it past 
midnight. The young lion was_hurried 
forth, with an invitation as hurried to a 
mouse breakfast at eight-thirty. 

The next day began noisily, with two 
sacks of mail and an ensuing trickle of tele- 
grams. It was all Beddy could do to bathe 
and shave and dress in the intervals of the 
doorbell. On going to the studio at the‘ap- 
pointed time he found it in a bustle. Miss 
Butler was there; also Miss Smith, Miss 
Nordhoff and Miss Stubbs; also their type- 
writers, their mimeograph, their lune heons 
and two suitcases full of necessaries; also 
Félice in an apron, in the soudioal of 


spirits. 
For a moment or two Beddy cast a dam- 
per on the party. A before-breakfast 


celebrity is a trying person to unfed young 
womanhood. But in a little time he had 
become Beddy Barefoot and was getting 
out the butter and setting the table and 
seeing that the mush did not boil over, much 
more like a big brother than a pedestaled 
Man Who. Had the party refrained from 
quoting the morning papers aloud he would 
have been altogether happy. His name 
was on every front page and in many of 
the editorials, and the general tone in re- 
gard to him was one of staggered amaze- 
ment. 

It seemed that his campaign was spread- 
ing like wildfire. This derided, disparaged 
Happy Hooligan was assuming the propor- 
tions of a national figure. People in thou- 
sands everywhere were casting off their 
footgear and looking to him for leader- 
ship. Bedford Mills clubs and associations 
were springing up in hundreds of towns 
and cities—-spontaneously, unguided, self- 
generated—each a burning bush in a 
nation-wide conflagration. It was a phe- 
nomenon. It was absurd, incredible, un- 
just—for why pick out shoes in the uni- 
versal po Pen BE sen: of everything? But 
there it was, phenomenoning all over our 
broad and once-happy land. The press that 
had guyed Beddy into fame was now re- 
garding him with an embittered respect 
Grudging every word about him, they had 
now no choice but to give him whole 
columns. 

3eddy ought to have been pleased, but 
he wasn’t. He was sick of notoriety. How 
he longed for the irrevocable peace of the 
dear old bank! The thought of the bank 
made his eyes moisten. He felt like a 
woman who had eloped with an unworthy 
lover and learned too late, and so on. He 
had eloped with fame, and the bank he had 
disgraced was forever closed against him. 
If only he might be back there, an eligible 
young man, with brilliant prospects, who 
could offer Félice 

These random imaginings, which per- 
sisted in the chatter of the breakfast table, 
showed the intensity of his preoccupation. 

And Helen? Helen had disappeared 
over the horizon. It was as though the 
acuteness of his humiliation had acted like 
a sponge, obliterating her from his heart. 
Félice, too, had been a good deal of a sponge 
in that obliterating sense. And what a 
hypocrite he felt among all those girls who 
took it for granted that he was in earnest 
with his imbecile campaign! Beddy, in his 
heart of hearts, agreed with his detractors, 


THE SATURDAY 


and winced in dreadful secret agreement at 
every stinging oy they scored against 
him. It was indeed not nearly so cheerful 
a breakfast as he pretended it was. 

And afterward? After the efficiency ex- 
perts, with their form letters and mimeo- 
graph and suitcases and luncheons had 
been installed in his apartment? What was 
it Félice was saying in that pretty, pleading 
way? And—and—ye om barefooted? 
Was going with him? Was going like that? 
Insisted on it, with such sparkling eyes and 
eagerness and urging that the poor stunned 
fellow was unable to do anything but gasp? 
He was appalled. The truth almost came 
out of him; but instead, in a sort of des- 
peration, he kissed her hands to make her 
let go his coat. But she only clutched the 
tighter, still begging, still pleading. Then, 
altogether beside himself, he kissed her up- 
turned mouth, again and again and again, 
while he heard her repeating in a panting 
whisper: “I am going with you! I am going 
with you! I am going with you!” 

What could you do with a girl like that 
except succumb? With a girl so softly ob- 
stinate and determined that even when half 
squeezed to death could still whisper: ‘‘I 
am going with you! I am going with you! 
I am going with you!” 

Dizzy with delight, Beddy’s kisses of 
denial turned swiftly into those of impas- 
sioned young manhood. It was not till 
then that Félice tore herself free, strangely 
beautiful in her shame and dishevelment; 
and somehow in the incoherent moments 
that followed Beddy had consented to her 
wish and had crossed his heart like the good 
little lion he really was. Not a word of love 
had been spoken, yet as they looked at 
each other, spent and smiling, it was with 
the realization of a plighted troth 

Manlike, Beddy would have stayed; but 
woman, always practical, was for the busi- 
ness in hand. Where were they to go, 
Mister Lion? The papers had said that the 
Lower East Side was twenty-five per cent 
shoeless; that in the Bronx hoodlums were 
breaking shoe-store windows; that the 
Italian quarter, south of Washington 
Square, was in such a ferment that the po 
lice had been doubled to prevent shoes 
being taken forcibly from passers-by. 
Where were they to go, Mister Lion? 

Mister Lion, being a confirmed New 
Yorker, could not conceive of any itinerary 
that did not include Fifth Avenue. Fifth 
Avenue is an ingrained habit. The New 
Yorker turns to it as the Persian turns to 
the sun. Thus it was decided, after some 
discussion, that they would stroll down the 
great thoroughfare, cross Washington 
Square and sustain—while also perhaps 
curbing —the fermented Italians. 

‘You owe it to yourself not to allow the 
crusade to go to excesses,”” said Félice 
sagely. “I know I would hate anybody 
who pulled off my shoes in the street, yell- 
ing ‘Viva Beddy Barefoot!’ That’s what 
they are doing down there—the poor, ex- 
cited dears!” 

Félice was a poor, excited dear herself as 
she left the building with Beddy, and not 
nearly so brave as she pretended. They had 
not gone far before she was clinging very 
pitifully to his arm; and at the inevitable 
jeers that greeted their appearance she 
trembled and turned pale. But nothing 
could induce her to turn back, even when a 
host of little ragamuffins ran in front of 





OY ASAHEL CURTIS, SEATTLE, was 


Summertand, Northeast Part of Rainier National Park 


EVENING POST 


them, shrilly crying out: ‘“‘ Beddy Barefoot's 
got a doll! Beddy Barefoot’s got a doll!” 

Beddy would gladly have killed the 
whole human race. It was purgatory to ex- 
pose Félice to all this grinning crowd, which 
grew in numbers with every step, clogging 
their progress in the way he knew so well. 
It was little good to remember that he was 
a phenomenon. To have been a Nero or a 
Herod would have pleased him far more 
just then. But he was too much in love to 
blame Félice or hold her accountable. The 
devotion that had prompted her was su- 
perb, and his misery was due to the price 
she was paying for it. The girl who could 
do that for a man 

Jostled from behind, he turned, and as 
he turned a heavy heel came down squarely 
on the toes of his right foot. Whose heel he 
had no means of knowing; in the thicken- 
ing mob it was impossible to identify any 
culprit. But geewhillikins, how it hurt! 
For an instant the pain was almost unbear 
able. But one couldn’t nurse injured toes 


* in that surge of staring, elbowing humanity. 


One could only swear under one’s breath 
and clench one’s fist. Then suddenly he 
was kicked in the heel with all the viciou 
ness possible in so cramped a space. Boil- 
ing with rage and inflamed by the pain and 
insult, Beddy again found himself help- 
lessly at a loss to discover a face that wore 
the least look of guilt. It was an infuriat- 
ing situation, nor was it alleviated by a 
rising chorus of “ Beddy Barefoot’s got a 
doll! Beddy Barefoot’s got a doll!” 
through which he tried to warn Félice of 
these detestable attacks. 

But he was interrupted by her cry of 
anguish. Her whole weight seemed to hang 
on hisarm. She, too, had been stamped on 
and was in an agony of distress. It was all 
she could do to control herself— not to 
break down utterly. Beddy was at his wit’s 
end to know what todo. His reeling brain 
had no counsel to give him. To turn back 
would be no advantage, for when you are 
the focus of a mob your personal direction 
counts for nothing 

Suddenly he received another himself 
like the squnch of an elephant’s hoof. It 
nearly doubled him up. The minions of the 
shoe trust, mingling with the crowd, were 
only too evidently taking their revenge 
and this so craftily that there was none to 
hold to account. Félice was sobbing aloud, 
Beddy, with blazing eyes, had the sensation 
of a goaded bull at bay. All about them 
was that intolerable refrain of “ Beddy 
Barefoot’s got a doll! Beddy Barefoot’s 
got a doll!” 

What a moment for the poor doll to say, 
in the most piteous voice Beddy had ever 
heard, ‘‘I am afraid I am going to faint’! 

Fortunately she didn’t, as with one arm 
about her, and in savage desperation, 
3eddy contrived to force a way to the 
curb. Minions resisted every inch; minions 
stamped and trod; minions booed farewell 
as that blessed taxi bore them off. By the 
time they had reached home they had 
laughed themselves into a hilarious humor. 
A common humiliation can at times be an 
extraordinary bond. Their feet were black 
and blue, and it was all they could manage 
to limp to the elevator and then to the 
studio—but still they laughed with rueful 
and inextinguishable entertainment 

This served them in good stead for a new 
disaster—the almost immediate arrival of 











67 


a blustering little house superintendent, 
who flourished a lease and ordered them to 
vacate their respective apartments by nine 
the next morning. He had already cleared 
out those typewriting women and had in 
structed the post office to deliver no more 
mail. 

“T herewith give you legal notice that 
you are objectionable,”’ he roared at Félice, 
and drowned her protest in a loud repeti 
tion of the same remark to Beddy—“] 
herewith give you legal notice that you are 
objectionable.” 

With that he laid down two letters with 
the gesture of a miner depositing two 
sizzling sticks of dynamite, and tramped 
out before the atmosphere could become 
too surcharged for his personal safety. 

Beddy and Félice gazed at each other in 
smiling consternation. They had been or 
dered out into the wide, wide world! That 
wretched lease permitted the landlord to 
adjudge them objectionable at his own 
sweet will and eject them at a few hours’ 
notice. 

‘And the spitty way he said it, as though 
we were hairs off his shaving brush!” ex 
claimed Félice indignantly. ‘It made me 
feel like Jonah getting out of the whale.” 

They were both seated on the divan, side 
by side, holding hands—with their poor 
feet on chairs in front of them. 

“What does anything matter as long as 
we have each other?” said Beddy cheer 
fully. 

Félice answered with a squeeze—such a 
comforting squeeze. 

“Do you know what I think we ought 
to do?” said Beddy in an odd sort of voice 
“I think we ought to get married.’ 

“* Married!" 

“Yes, I mean it, Félice. Truly and 
seriously, I mean it. Why should we pre 
tend we don’t love each other?” 

“Oh, Lam not pretending I don’t!” said 
Félice. “The trouble is 1 do, of course 
But it’s rather suddenly sudden, isn’t it? 
And will you promise and vow to cherish 
my poor feet?”’ 

“Please don’t laugh about it, 
Betty. “You admit you care, and you 
know I care—and it’s all terribly impor 
tant, Félice.”’ 

“But how important was it two da) 
ago?”’ With a little shake of her head, she 
added before he could reply: “‘I don’t want 
to be repented of at leisure, you dear infant 
It’s very alluring; I don’t say it isn’t; but 
I cannot let myself be marked ‘Rush’ mat 
rimonially. Why can’t we admit, quite 
frankly and kissingly, that we like each 
other a lot—and let it go at that?”’ 

“You don’t realize what a hole | am in,” 
went on Beddy with a note of entreaty in 
his voice. “I can’t limp about New York 
for everybody to laugh at the way the 
tables have been turned on me. [| am 
beaten, and I may as well admit it. The 
idiotic crusade is over, as far as ] am con 
cerned, and my problem is where to hide 
my diminished head. It’s going to be a 
heartbreaking exile without you.” 

Félice reflected. 

‘There’s Bermuda,” she said at last 
“Papa and mamma are in Bermuda, and 
papa chose it because it was the nearest 
place he could get a drink without a pas 
port. He says if the golf course is good he 
will buy an estate there and alternate 
be tween Bermuda and New York.” 

‘Then why not be engaged and go to 
Bermuda?” exclaimed Beddy joyfull 
‘That would be perfectly in order, wouldn't 
it? It only takes two days and, anyway, 
you spend most of that in being seusick 
Let's go to Bermuda, Félice.”” 

‘There's a boat at noon to-morrow,” she 
said with a pretty seriousness that might 
mean much or nothing. ‘I know there i 
because I write to papa by every mail. But 
I really couldn't go—engaged.”’ 

‘Could you go unengaged?” 

She snuggled closer to him and her arm 
stole round his neck 

“Yes,"’ she whispered, “A thousand 
times yes, and my love isn’t two days old 
at all, but months and months old. I uss 
llv of me 


, protested 


to call you my e god boy 40 8) 
wasn't it?—and if: a weel passed without 
my seeing you I was miserable. And now 
shut your eyes and I will tell you my 
shameful secret. I am not the girl you 
think I am, and perhaps you will never 
peak to me again, Shut your pretty blur 
eyes, and try to love me in spite « f it.’ 

Beddy, with Helen on his conscience, and 
remembering what he had read of artist 
braced himself for an avowal he dreaded 
to hear 

“Papa is the shoe trust,” she said, 





THE SATURDAY 

















\ “Floors of beauty 
thal lighten labor 


With the servant problem more serious than ever 
betore, household management seemingly becomes more 
.complex. Happily, means are at hand to lighten the duties 
of the home. 


Conspicuous among such helps are Blabon floors of Art 
Linoleum. Their beautiful patterns enlarge their use and 
adapt them for every room in the house. Fabric rugs 
may be thrown over them or not, as you prefer. 

Their smooth surface is easy to kéep clean—merely a 
light, regular going over with a damp cloth or mop, and 
it is always bright and sanitary. 





Especially in the sewing-room is this feature welcomed, 
tor keeping such floors free from threads, ravelings and 
cuttings of cloth is usually quite a tiresome task. 


On the floor above Carpet Inlaid pattern No. 615 is 
shown. The designs and colorings go through to the 
burlap back, insuring continuous beauty through years 
of service. 

For genuine linoleum look for the name Blabon. Write 
for illustrated booklet. 


verings (including rugs) made upon 
a felt paper base are not linoleum, and to describe, advertise or 
sell them as linoleum is a violation of the law. Felt paper floor 

verings have a black interior which is easily detected upon 
examining the edge 


Important Notice: Floor co 








The George W. 


Blabon Company, Philadelphia 





| every afternoon?” 


| Spike 


EVENING POST 


January 1,192! 


THE WRONG TWIN 


(Continued from Page 19) 


deprecatingly with his tongue as Winona 
became detailed in her narrative. 

“My great glory!” he exclaimed at last. 
“You mean to say they mix it down there 


“Every single day,”’ confirmed Winona. 


| “ He’s been going to that low dive for weeks 


and weeks. Think of the debasing associa- 
tions!” 

“Just think of it!” 
tiently. “Every afternoon 
he -aring a word of it!” 

f you could only say a word to him,’ 
besought Winona. ‘Coming from you it 
might have an influence for good.” 

“T will, I will!’’ promised Sharon fer- 
vently, and there was a gleam of honest 
determination in his quick old eyes. 

That very afternoon, in Pegleg McCar- 
ron’s shed, he said words to Wilbur that 
might have an influence for good. 

“Quit sticking your jaw out that way or 
he’ll knock it off!"’ had been his first advice. 
And again: ‘Cover up that stomach—you 
want to get killed?” 

He was sitting at one end of the arena, 
on a plank supported by the ends of two 
beer kegs, and he held open a large, thick, 
respectable gold watch. 

*Time!”’ he called. 

Beside him sat the red-eyed and dis- 
reputable Pegleg McCarron, who whacked 
the floor with the end of his crutch from 
time to time in testimony of his low pleas- 
ure 

The round 


said Sharon impa- 
and me not 


closed with one of Wilbur 
Cowan’s right crosses—started from not 
too far back—landing upon the jaw of 
Brennon with what seemed to be a 
shattering impact. Sharon Whipple yelled 
and Pegleg McCarron pounded the floor in 
applause. Spike merely shook his head 
once 

‘The kid’s showing speed,”’ he admitted 
cordially. “If he just had something back 
of them punches!” 

“It was a daisy!’’ exclaimed Sharon. 
“My suffering stars, what a daisy!” 

"Twas neatly placed!”’ said Pegleg. 

“I’m surprised at you!” said Sharon 
later to the panting apprentice. “I’m sur- 
prised and grieved! You boys mixing it 
here every day for weeks and never letting 
on!” 

“T never thought you'd like it,” 
Wilbur. 

“Like it!’ said Sharon. He said it 
unctuously. “And say, don’t you let on to 
Miss Penniman that I set here and held the 
watch for you I ain’t wanting that to get 
out on me. 

“No, sir,” said Wilbur. 

Later Sharon tried to avoid Winona one 
day on River Street, but when he saw that 
she would not be avoided he met her like 
a man. 

“I’ve reasoned with the boy from time to 
time,” he confessed gloomily, “but he’s 
self-headed; talking huge high about being 
a good lightweight and all that. I don’t 
know—mebbe I haven't taken just the 
right tack with him yet.” 

Winona thought him curiously evasive 
in manner. She believed that he feared the 
worst for the boy, but was concealing it 
from her. 

“His eye is almost well where that cow- 
ardly bully struck him,” she told Sharon. 

“If only we could get him into somet hing 
whe ‘re he could hold his head up. 

‘He does that too much now,” began 
Sharon impulsively, but stopped, flounder- 


said 


| ing. 


““T mean he ain’t enough ashamed,” he 
concluded feebly, and feigned that some- 
one had called him imperatively from the 
door of the First National Bank. 

From time to time Spike’s boxing man- 

ner grew tense for a period of days. He 
tightened up, as Sharon put it, and left a 
sore and battered apprentice while he went 
off to some distant larger town to fight, 
stepping nonchalantly aboard the six-fifty- 
eight with his fighting trunks and shoes 
wrapped! in a copy of the Newbern Advance, 
and shifting his gum as he said good-by 
to Wilbur, who would come down to see 
him off. 

Sometimes Spike returned from these 
sorties unscathed and with money. Oftener 
he came back without money and with a 
face—from abrasive thrusts—looking as if 
a careless golfer had gone over him and 
neglected to replace the divots. After 
these times there were likely to follow com- 


| plicated episodes of dentistry at the office 


These would render the 
of Spike more refulgent 


of Doctor Patten. 
iavinciple smile 
than ever. 
mi 

HE next birthday of Merle Whipple was 

celebrated at a time when Spike had 
been particularly painstaking in view of an 
approaching combat. Not only did he 
leave his young friend with an eye that 
compelled the notice, an eye lavishly dis- 
playing all the tints yet reve valed by spectro- 
scopic analysis, and which by itself wo ae 
have rendered him socially undesirable, but 
he bore a swollen nose and a split and puffy 
lip; bore them proudly, it should be said, 
and was not enough cast down, in Winona’s 
opinion, that his shameful wounds would 
deter him from mingling with decent folk. 
Indeed, Winona had to be outspoken be- 
fore she convinced him that a birthday 
party was now no place for him. He would 
have gone without misgiving, and would 
have pridefully recounted the sicke ae 
details of that last round in which Spik 
Bre nnon had permitted himself to fancy he 
faced a veritable antagonist. Still, he cared 
little for the festivity. 

He saw Patricia from a distance in River 
Street, but pulled the dingy cap lower and 
avoided her notice. She was still bony and 
animated and looked quite capable of com- 
manding his attendance over eighteen holes 
of the most utterly futile golf in all the 
world. His only real regret in the matter 
of his facial blemishes was that Spike came 
back with the mere loser’s end of an incon- 
siderable purse, and had to suffer another 
infliction of the most intricate bridge work 
at the hands of Doctor Patten before he 
could properly enjoy at the board of T-bone 
Tommy that diet so essential to active men 
of affairs. 

CHAPTER XII 

more the aging Wilbur Cowan 

alone by night thrillingly to 
watch the arched splendor of stars above 
and muse upon the fleeting years- that 
carried off his youth. The moment marked 
another tremendous epoch, for he was done 
with school. Now for all the years to come 
he could hear the bell sound its warning 
and feel no qualm; never again need sit 
confined in a stuffy room, breathing chalk 
dust, and compel his errant mind to book- 
ish abstractions. He had graduated from 
the Newbern High School, respectably if 
not with distinguished honor, and the super- 
intendent had said, in conferring his rolled 
and neatly tied diploma, that he was facing 
the battle of life and must acquit himself 
with credit to Newbern. 

The superintendent had seemed to be- 
lieve it was a great moment; there had 
been a tremor in his voice as he addressed 
the class, each in turn. He was a small, 
nervous, intent man whose daily worries 
showed plainly through the uplift of the 
moment, and Wilbur had wondered what 
he found to be so thrilled about. His own 
battle with life—he must have gone out to 
the fight years ago under much the same 
circumstances—had apparently brought 
him none of the glory he was now urging 
his young charges to strive for. He had to 
stay in a schoolroom and breathe chalk 
dust. 

Whatever the battle of life might be, 
he was going to fight it out-of-doors; not 
like imprisoned school-teachers and clerk 
and bookkeepers in First National Bank 
Only when alone under that splatter of 
stars did he feel the moment big with more 
than a mere release from textbooks. Ther 
at last he knew that he had become a man 
and must put away childish things, and his 
mind floated on the thought, off to those 
distant stars where other boys had that 
night, perhaps unwittingly, become men. 

He wished that people would not pester 
him with solemn questions about what he 
now meant to make of himself. They 
seemed to believe that he should be con- 
cerned about this. Winona was especially 
insistent. She said he stood at the parting 
of the ways; that all his future hung upon 
his making a seemly choice; and she said 
it gloomily, with ‘frank foreboding, a: 
more than half expecting him to choose 
amiss. 

Judge Penniman was another who 
warned him heavily that it was time to quit 
being a Jack-of-all-trades. The judge 
spoke as from a topless tower of achieve 
ment, relating anecdotes of his own per- 
sistence under difficulties at the beginning 

(Centinued on Page 70) 


NCE 


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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


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(Continued from Page 68) 
of a career which he allowed his hearer to 
infer had been of shining merit, hampered, 
it is true, by the most trying ill health. 
Even Mrs. Penniman said that they were 
expecting great things of him, now that he 
had become a man. 

The boy dimly felt that there was some- 
thing false in all this urgency. The super- 
intendent of schools and Winona and the 
judge and Mrs. Penniman seemed to be 
tightly wound up with expectancy about 
him, yet lived their own lives not too 
te nsely, The supe rintendent of schools was 
not inspiring as a model; the judge, for all 
his talk, lived a life of fat idleness, with 
convenient maladies when the Penniman 
lawn needed mowing. Mrs. Penniman, it 
is true, fought the battle of life steadily 
with her plain and fancy dressmaking, but 
with no visible glory; and Winona herself 
was becoming .a drab, sedate spinster, 
troubled about many things. He wondered 
why they should all conceive him to be 
meant for so mucl than they had 
achieved. Why couldn't he relax into a life 
such as they led, without all this talk of 
effort and planning? It seemed to him that 
people pretty much allowed life to make 
itself for them, and lived it as it came He 
was not going to bother about it. Let it 
come. He would find a way to live it 
People managed Judge Penniman was 
never so ailing that he couldn't reach the 
harness shop for his game of checkers. The 
only person he knew who had really worked 
hard to make something of himself wa 
Spike Brennon. 

So he resorted to the golf links that sum- 
mer, heedless and happy. “‘ Without ideal 
so far as one can read him,” wrote Winona 
in her journal, underlining the indictment 
and closing it with three bold ex- 
clamation points. He was wel- 
comed effusively to the golf course 
by John Knox MeTavish 

**Good!" said John on the morn 
ing of his appearance, which wa 
effusive for any McTavish 

He liked the boy, not only be 
cause he drove a ball, but 
because you could talk to him ir 
a way you couldn't to par-r-r-rtic 
, club 
proper-r-r-r and to quit‘callin’ it 
stick 
He caddied that summer only 
for golfers of the better sort, and 
for Sharon Whipple, choosing hi 
employ with nice di 
John had said golf 
game, because 


more 


weet 


you was teaching to hold a 


a“ 


rimination 
was a grand 
than any other 
game it showed how many kinds of a 
fool a man could be betwixt his mind 
and his muscles. His apprentice wa 
already sensitive to the grosser kind 
In addition to caddying he taught the 
secrets of the game when pupils came 
too plenteouslyfor John. Buthe lacked 
John's tried patience, and for the ideal 
teacher was too | 


more 


likely to utter brutal 
truths instead of polite and meander 

ing diplomacies. He had caught per 

haps a bit too much of Spike Brennon’ 
manner of instruction, a certain 
strained brusquerie, out of place wit! 
people who are willing to pay largely 

for instruction which they ignore in spite of 
its monotonous repetition. John warned him 
that he must soften his clients— but-ter-r-1 
‘em up withnice.words—or they wouldn't 
come back. He must say they was doing 
gr-r-rand. He did say it now and then, but 
with no ring of conviction. 

Still it was a good summer. Especially 
good, because all the time he knew he was 
waiting for that morning in early Septem 
ber when the school bell would ring and he 
would laugh carelessly at what had once 
been the imperious summons. He thought 
that after this high moment he might be 
able to plan his life at least a little—not too 
minutely, 

ui 

ATE that summer Merle and Patricia 

_4 Whipple came by appointment to play 
the course with him Merle too had be 
come a man—he would enter college that 
fall. Apparently no was bothering 
about the plan of his life. And Patricia had 
become, if not a woman, at least less of a 
girl, though she was still bony and utterly 
freckled. They drove off, Patricia not far 
but straight, and Merle, after impressive 
preliminaries that should have intimidated 
any golf ball, far but not straight. After 
his shot he lectured instructively upon its 
faults. When he had done they knew why 
he had sliced into the miry fen on the 
right. Then with an expert eye he studied 


one 


be Doing Next? 


THE SATURDAY 


his brother’s stance and swing. The ball of 
Wilbur went low and straight and far, but 
the shot was prefaced apparently by no 
nice adjustment of the feet or by any pre- 
liminary waggles of the club. 

“No form,” said Merle. “‘ You ought to 
have form by this time, but you don’t show 
any; and you put no force into your swing. 
Now let me show you just one little thing 
about your stance.” 

With generous enthusiasm he showed his 
brother not ‘only one little thing, but two 
or three that should be a buckler to him in 
time of need; and his brother thanked 
him, and so authoritative was the platform 
manner of Merle that he nearly said “ Yes, 

ir.” After which Patricia played a brassy 
shot, and they fall 
went to find Merle’s 
ball among the oaks. 
After that they went 


“Prine Fighting!" Said the Jadge Scornfully. 
Never Settles Down to Anything. Jack-of+ 


Alt«Trades and Good at None" 


on to Wilbur's ball, which—still without a 
trace of form—he dropped on the green 
with a mashie, in spite of Merle’s warning 
that he would need a mid-iron to reach it. 

They drove, and again Merle lectured 
upon the three reasons why his ball came 
to rest in a sand trap that flanked the 
fairway. He seemed to feel this informa 
tion was expected from him, nor did he 
neglect a generous exposition of his 
brother's failure to exhibit form commen- 
surate with his far, straight drive. His 
brother was this time less effusive in his 
thanks, and in no danger whatever of 
replying “‘ Yes, sir!’’ He merely retorted, 
“Don't lunge—keep down!” advice which 
the lecturer received with a frowning “I 
know—I know!” as if he had lunged in- 
tentionally, with a secret purpose that 
would some day become known, to the 
confusion of so-called golf experts. Wilbur 
and Patricia waited while Merle went to 
retrieve his ball. They saw repeated sand 
showers rise over the top of a bunker. 
From where they stood the player seemed 
to be inventing a new kind of golf, to be 
played without a ball. A pale mist hung 
over the scene. 

“I know just what he’s saying,” Patricia 
told Wilbur. 

“Shame on you!” saidthe, and they both 
laughed, after which Patricia glanced at 
him oftener. 


“What'lt He 


EVENING POST 


It should be said that he was now ar- 
rayed as Winona would have him, in 
summer-sports attire of careless but ex- 
pensive appearance, including a silk shirt 
alleged by the maker to be snappy, and a 
cap of real character. The instinct of the 
male for noticeable plumage had at last 
worked the reform that not all of Winona’s 
pleading had sufficed for. Wilbur Cowan 
at the moment might, but for his excellent 
golf, have been mistaken for a genuine 
Whipple. 

Merle’s homilies continued after each 
shot. He subjected his own drives to a 
masterly analysis, and strove to incite his 
brother to correct form, illustrating this 
for his instruction with practice swings 
that were marvels of nicety, and learnedly 
quoting Braid and Vardon. 

It was after one of these informative in- 
tervals, succeeding a brilliantly topped 
drive by the lecturer, that Patricia Whipple, 
full in the flooding current of Merle’s dis- 
course, turned her speckled face aside and 
flagrantly winked a greenish eye at Wilbur 
Cowan; whereupon Wilbur Cowan winked 

his own lefteye, that 
one being farthest 
from the speaker. 
The latter, having 
concluded his re- 
marks, went to find 
his ball, and the two 
walked on. 


“He just ought to be 
takendown,” suggested Pa- 
tricia malevolently. 

“Think so?” demanded 
Wilbur. 

“Know so!” declared the girl. ‘‘’Tisn’t 
only golf. He’s that way about every- 
thing—telling people things—how to do it 
and everything. Only no one at our house 
dares come down on him. Harvey D. and 
Ella and even grandfather—they all jump 
through hoops for him, the cowards! I 
give him a jolt now and then, but I get 
talked to for it.” 

“The boy needs some golf talk 
tainly does,” conceded the other. 
Too bad you're afraid to do it,” 
Patricia said resignedly. 

She looked sadly away, then quickly 
back at him to see if it had taken. She 
thought it hadn't. He was merely looking 
as if he also considered it too bad. But on 
the next tee he astonishingly asserted him- 
self as—comparatively—a golfing expert. 
He wasn’t going to have this splendid 
brother, truly his brother for all the change 
of name, making a fool of himself before a 
girl. Full in the tide of Merle’s jaunty dis- 
course he blazed out with an authority of 
his own, and in tones so arrogant that 
the importance of the other oozed almost 
pitiably from him. 

“Quit that! Listen! We've played ten 
holes, and you haven’t made one clean 
drive, and I’ve got off every one clean. I 
make this course in seventy-three, and 
you'd never make it in one hundred and 
twenty the way you're going. But every 


he cer- 


January 1,192! 


time you stand there and tell me things 
about your drive and about mine as if you 
could really play golf.’ 

“Well, but my dear chap’’— Merle paused, 
trying to regain some lost spiritual value 
“T’m merely telling you some little things 
about form.” 

“Forget it!” commanded the other. 
“You haven’t any form yourself; you 
don’t have form until you can play the 
game, and then you don’t think about it. 
Maybe my form doesn’t stick out, but you 
bet it must be tucked in there somewhere 
or I couldn’t hit the ball. You don’t want 
to think I haven’t any just because I don’t 
stand there and make a long speech to the 
ball before swatting it.” 

“Well, I was only saying -’’ Merle be 
gan again, but in meekness such as Patricia 
had never observed in him. 

Hearing a sound in the background 
Wilbur turned. She was staging a panto 
mime of excessive delight, noiselessly clap- 
ping her thin brown hands. He frowned at 
her—he was not going to have any girl 
laughing at his brother—and returned his 
attention to the late exponent of Braid and 
Vardon. 

“‘Here’’—he teed a ball—‘‘ you do about 
every wrong thing you could. You don’t 
overlook a single one. Now I'll show you. 
Take your stance, address the ball!’ 

He had forgotten, in the heat of his real 
affection, all the difference in their stations. 

He was talking crisply to this 
Whipple as if he were merely a 
Cowan twin. Merle, silent, dazed, 
meek, did as he was directed. 

“Now take your back swing 
slower. You've been going up too 
quick—-go up slow—stay there! 
Wait—bend that left wrist under 
your club—not out but under 
here’? —headjusted the limp wrist. 
“‘Now keep your weight on the 
left foot and come down easy. 
Don't try to knock the ball a 
mile—it can’t be done. Now up 
again and swing—easy!”’ 

Merle swung and the topped 
ball went a dozen feet. 

“There, now I suppose you're 
satisfied!” he said sulkily, but his 
instructor was not satisfied. 

“Don't be silly! You lifted your 
head. You have to do more than one 
thing right to hit that ball. You have 
to stay down toit. Here’’—he teed an 
other ball—‘‘take your stance and se« 
if you can’t keep down. I'll hold you 
down.” Infrontofthe player he grasped 
his own driver and rested it lightly upon 
the other’s head. ‘‘ Just think that clul 
weighs a hundred pounds and you 
couldn’t lift your head if you wanted 
to. Now swing again, turn the left 
wrist under, swing easy —there!”’ 

They watched the ball go high and 
straight, even if not far. 

“A Texas leaguer,”’ said Wilbur, “but 
it’s all right. It’s the first time this af- 
ternoon you've stayed in the fairway. 

Now again!” 

He teed another ball, and the threesomes 
had become a mere golf lesson plus a clash 
of personalities. Wilbur Cowan did all the 
talking; he was grim, steely eyed, im 
perious. His splendid brother was mute 
and submissive, after a few feeble essays at 
assertion that were brutally stifled. Patri- 
cia danced disrespectfully in the back- 
ground when neither brother observed her. 
She had no wish to incur again the tightly 
drawn scowl of Wilbur. The venom of that 
had made her uncomfortable. 

“*See now how you hit ’em out when you 
do what I tell you!” said the instructor at 
last, when Merle had a dozen clean drives 
to his credit. But the sun had fallen low 
and the lesson must end. 

“Awfully obliged, old chap—thanks a 
heap!”’ said Merle, recovering slightly 
from his abjectness. ‘‘I dare say I shall be 
able to smack the little pill after this.” 

The old chap hurled a last grenade. 

“You won't if you keep thinking about 
form,” he warned ‘Best way to forget 
that—quit talking so much about it. 
After you make a shot, keep still, or talk 
to yourself.” 

“Awfully good of you,”” Merle responded 
graciously, for he was no longer swinging 
at a ball, but merely walking back to the 
clubhouse, where one man was as good as 
another. “‘ There may be something in what 
you say.” 

“There is,”’ said Wilbur. 

He waved them a curt farewell as they 
entered the latest Whipple car. 

(Continued on Page 75) 


, 










THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


- io 


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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 





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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


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73 


















THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 





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(Continued from Page 70) 
“But, you know, the poor kid after all 
hasn’t any form,” the convalescent Merle 


announced to Patricia when they were 
seated. 
“He has nice hair and teeth,” said the 


girl, looking far ahead as the car moved off. 
“Oh, hair—teeth!’’ murmured Merle, 
loftily careless, as one possessing hair and 
teeth of his own. “I’m talking about golf.” 
“He lines "em out,” said Patricia cat- 
tish ly. 

‘Too muc h 
lifted a hand 
deprecation. 
gets for ha 
the time.” 

“The poor kid!’ murmured 
**T never noticed him much before. 
3eastly overbearing sort of chap,” 
Merle. 
“Isn't 


like 1 professional.’ Merle 
from the wheel to wave 
‘That’s what the poor kid 
nging about that clubhouse all 


Patricia. 


said 


he?” said Patricia. “I couldn’t 


help but notice that.’’ She shifted her 
eyes side wise at Merle. “I do wish some 
of the folks could have been there,’’ she 
added listlessly. 

“Ts that so?”’ he demanded, remember- 
ing then that this girl was never to be 


trusted, even in moods seemingly honeyed. 
He spurted the new roadster in rank de »fi- 
ance of Newbern’s lately enacted ordinance 
regulating the speed of motor vehicles. 
Yet the night must have brought 
him counsel, for he appeared the next 
afternoon—though without Patricia—to 
beseech further instruction from the com- 


petent brother. He did this rather hum- 
bly, for one of his station. 

‘I know my game must be pretty 
rotten,’ he said. ‘‘Maybe you can show 


me one or two more little things. 
“I'll show you the same old things over 
again,” said Wilbur, overjoyed at this 
friendly advance, and forthwith he did. 
For a week they played the course to- 
gether, not only tothe betterment of Merle’s 
technic but to the promotion of a real 
friendliness between this Whipple and 
mere Cowan. They became as brothers 
again, seeming to have leaped the span of 
years during which they had been alien. 
During those years Wilbur had kept secret 
his pride in his brother, his exultation that 
Merle should have been called for this high 
eminence and not found wanting. There 
had been no one to whom he could reveal 
it, except to Winona, perhaps, in little 
flashes. Now that they were alone in a 
curious renewal of their old intimacy, he 
permitted it to shine forth in all its fullness, 


and Merle became pleasantly aware that 
this sharp-speaking brother—where golf 
was concerned—felt for him something 
much like worship. The glow warmed 


them both as they loitered over the course, 
stopping at leisure to recall ancient hap- 
penings of their boyhood together. Far 
apart now in their points of view, the ex- 
pensively nurtured Merle, and Wilbur, who 
had grown as he would, whose education 
was of the street and the open, they found 
a common ground and rejoiced in their 
contact 


“T don’t understand why we haven't 
seen more of each other all these years,” 
said “Merle on a late day of this renewed 


companionship. ‘“‘Of course I’ve been 
away a lot—school and trips and all that.” 

“And I’m still a small-towner,” said 
Wilbur, though delightedly. It was worth 
being a small-towner to have a brother so 
splendid. 

“We must see a lot of each other from 
now on,” insisted Merle. ‘‘We must get 
together this way every time I come back.” 


THE SATURDAY 


“We must,” said Wilbur. ‘I hope we 
do, anyway,” he added, reflecting that this 
would be one of those things too’ good to 
come true. 

“What I don’t understand,” went on 
Merle, “‘you haven't had the advantages 
I have, net gone off to school or met lots 
of people, as I’m always doing, not seen 
the world, you know, but you seem so 
much older than I am. I guess you seem 
at least ten years older.” 

“Well, I don’t know.”’ Wilbur pondered 
this. “‘“You do seem younger some way. 
Maybe a small town makes people old 
quicker, knocking round one the way I 
have, bumping up against things here and 
there. I don’t know at all. Sharon 
Whipple says the whole world is made up 
mostly of small towns; if you know one 
through and through you come pretty near 
knowing the world. Maybe that’s just his 
talk.” 

“Surly old beggar. Somehow I never 
hit it off well with him. Too sarcastic, 
thinking he’s funny; uncouth too.” 

“Well, perhaps so.”’ Wilbur was willing 
to let this go. He did not consider Sharon 
Whipple surly or uncouth or sarcastic, but 
he was not going to dispute with this 
curiously restored brother. ‘‘Try a brassy 
on that,’ he suggested, to drop the char- 
acter of Sharon Whipple. 

Merle tried the brassy, and they played 
out the hole. Merle made an eight. 

“T should have had a six at most,” he 
protested, “‘after that lovely long brassy 
shot.” 

Wilbur grinned. 

“John McTavish says the should-have- 
had score for this course is a mar-r-rvel. 

He says if these people could count their 
should-have-hads they’d all be playing 
under par. He’s got a wicked tongue, that 
John.’ 

“Well, anyway,” insisted Merle, ‘‘you 
should have had a four, because you were 
talking to me when you flubbed that ap- 
proach shot; that cost you a couple.’ 

“John says the cards should have an- 
other column added to write in excuses; 
after each hole you could put down just 
why you didn’t get it in two less. He says 
that would be gr-r-r-and f'r th’ dubs.” 

“The hole is four hundred ard eighty 
yards, and you were thirty yards from the 
green in two,” said Merle. ‘‘ You should 
have had 

“*T guess I should have had what I got. 
Sharon Whipple says that’s the way with a 
lot of people in this life—make fine starts, 
and then flub their short game, fall down 
on easy putts and all that, after they get on 
the lawn. He calls the fair greens lawns.” 

“Awful old liar when he counts his own 
score,’ said Merle. “I played with him 
just once.” 

Wilbur grinned again. He would cheer- 
fully permit this one slander of his friend. 

“You certainly can’t trust him out of 
sight in a sand trap,”’ he conceded. ‘‘ You'll 


say, ‘How many, Mr. Whipple?’ and he'll 
say, ‘Well, let me see—eight and a short 
tote—that’s it, eight and a tote.’ He 


means that he made eight, or about eight, 
by lifting it from the rough about ten feet 
onto the fairway.” 

“Rotten sportsmanship,’ declared Merle. 

“No, no, he’s a good sport all right! 
He'd oy you to do the same, or tee up 
a little bit for a mid-iron shot. He says he 
won’t read the rules, because they’re too 
fine print. I like the old boy a lot,” he 
concluded firmly. He wanted no misun- 
derstanding about that, even if Merle 
should esteem him less for it. 


EVENING POST 


One hun- 


They drove from the next tee. 
dred and fifty yards ahead the fairway was 


intersected by a ditch. It was deep, and 
its cruel maw yawned hungrily for golf 
balls. These it was fed in abundance daily. 

“Rottenly placed, that ditch!’’ com- 
plained Merle as he prepared to drive 

“Only because you think so,” replied his 
brother. ‘Forget it’s there and you'll 

carry it every time. That’s what Sharon 
Whipple does. It’s what they call psychol 
ogy It’s a mental hazard. Sharon 
Whipple says that’s another thing about 
golf that’s like real life. He says most all 
things that scare us are just mental haz- 
ards.” 

“Stuff!” said Merle, “Stuffy stuffness! 
The ditch is there, isn’t it, psychology or no 
psychology? You might ignore a hungry 
tiger, but calling him a mental hazard 
wouldn’t stop him from eating you, woul 1 
it? Sharon Whipple makes me tired.’ He 
placed a drive neatly in thedite h. ‘‘There!”’ 
he exploded triumphantly. ‘I guess thst 
shows you what the old gas bag knows 
about it.” 

“Oh, you'll soon learn to carry that 
hole!’ his brother soothed. ‘Now let’s 
see what you can do with that niblick.” 
He grinned again as they went on to the 
ditch. “Sharon Whipple calls his niblick 
his gitter."" Merle, however, would not 
join in the grin. Sharon Whipple still made 
him tired. 

In the course of their desultory playing 
they discussed the other Whipples. 

“Of course they're awfully fond of me,’ 
said Merle. 

“Of course,” said Wilbur. 

“TIT guess Harvey D.—father—would 
give me anything in the world I asked for, 
ever since | was a kid. Horses, dogs, guns, 
motor cars—notice the swell little roadster 
I'm driving? Birthday! Says he expects 
great things of me.” 

“Why wouldn't he? 

“Oh, of course, of ¢ ourse!’” Merle waved 
this aside. ‘And Grandfather Gideon, he’s 
an old brick. College man himself—class 
of sixty-five. Think of that, way back in 
the last century! Sharon Whipple never 
got to college. Ran off to fight in the Civil 
War or something. That's why he’s so 


9 


countrified, I s’pose. You take Gideon 
now—he’s a gentleman. Anyone could see 
that. Not like Sharon. Polished old boy 


you'd meet in a club. And Mrs. Harvey 
D.—mother—say, she can’t do enough for 
me! Bores me stiff lots of times about 
whether I’m not going to be sick or some- 
thing. -And money—Lord! I’m supposed 
to have an allowance, but they all hand me 
money and tell me not to say anything 
about it to the others. Of course I don’t. 
And Harvey D. himself—he tries to let on 
he’s very strict about the allowance, then 
he'll pretend he didn’t pay me the last 
quarter and hand me two quarters at once. 
He knows he’s a liar, and he knows I know 
it too. I guess I couldn't have fallen in 
with a nicer bunch. Even that funny 
daughter of Sharon's, Cousin Juliana, she 
warms up now and then—slips me a coupk 
of twenties or so. You should have 
the hit I made at prep! Fellows there owe 
me money now that I bet I never do get 
paid back. But no matter, of course.” 

“That Juliana always makes me kind of 
shiver,” admitted Wilbur. “She looks so 
kind of —well, kind of lemonish.” 

“She's all of that, that old girl 


seen 


She's 


the only one I never do get close to. 
Soured old maid, I guess. Looks at you a 
lot, but doesn’t say much, like she wa 


sizing you up. That nose of hers certainly 











does stand out like a peak or somethings 
You wouldn’t think it either, but she reads 


poetry — mushiest kind—awful stuff. Say, 
I looked into a book of hers one d iy ove! 
at the Old Place—Something-or-Other 
Love Lyries was the title--murder! | 
caught two or three things — talk about raw 
stuff —you know, fellows and girls and all 
that! What she gets out of it beats me 


with that frozen face of hers.”’ 
A little later he portrayed the character 


of Patricia ed igs in terms that would 
have Incen ed her, but that moved Wilbur 
to little but mild interest 

“You never know when you got your 
thumb on that kid," he said. “‘She’s the 
shifty one, all right Talk along to vou 
sweet as honey, but al! the time she 


watching for some chance to throw the 
harpoon into you Venomous ~—- regular 
vixen. No sense of humor laughs at 
almost anything a fellow says or doe 


Trim you in a minute with that tongue of 
hers. And mushy! Reads stories about a 
young girl falling in love with strange met 
that come along when hér car busts down 


on a lonely road. Got that bug yw, 
Drives round a whole lot all alone looking 
for the car to go blooey and a lovely stranger 
to happen along and fix it for her that tur 
out to be a duke or something in yr 
Sickening! 

“Two years ago she got confidential on 
night and told me she was going to Italy 
some day and get carried off to a cave by a 
handsome bandit in spite of her struggles 
Yes, she would struggle—not! Talk al 
mental hazards, she’s one, al] right! She'll 
make it lively for that family some day 
With Harvey D. depending on me a lot, 
I'm expecting to have d of trouble 
with her when she gets to going good. Of 


no en 


course she’s only a kid now, but you car 
plot her curves easy. One of these kind 
that’ll say one thing and mean another 
And wild? Like that time when she started 


to run off and found us in the graveyard 
remember?” 
They laughed about this, 


rehearsing that 


far-off day with its vicissitudes and sudden 
fall of wealth. 

“That was the first day the Whipple 
noticed me,”’ said Merle. ‘I made such a 
good impression on them they decided to 
take me.” 

At another time they talked of their 
futures. Wilbur was hazy about his owr 
He was going to wait and see. Merle wa 
happily definite. 

“Tl tell you,” aid he when they had 
played out the last hole one day, Like 
this. I feel ot need to express my best 
thoughts in writing, so I've decided to 
become a great writer—you know, take up 
literature. I don’t mean poetry or muck of 
that sort—serious literature. Of course 
Harvey D. talks about my taking charge 


of the Whipple interests, but I'll work hin 
round. Big writers are somebody— not 
bankers and things like that. You could 
be the biggest kind of a banker, and people 
would never know it or think much about 
it. Writers are different. The 
kinds of notice, I don’t know just what 
branch of writing I'll take up first, but I'll 
find out at college. Anyway, not mucl 
stories about a handsome stranger coming 
along just because a girl's car busts dow: 
I'll pick out something dignified, you bet !"’ 
“T bet you will,” said his adn 
brother. “I bet you'll get a lot of notice 
“Oh"’'—Merlewavedana senting ha i 
‘naturally, after I get started good.’ 








(TO BE CONTINUED 




















THE SATURDAY EVENING January 1,192! 























































































































THE SATURDAY 


THE GLOBE 


Go into the great cities or out along the highways 
of Europe—in England, Ireland, France, Italy, 
Spain or wherever else you will, and note the many 
motor cars that ride on Dunlop Tires. 

Travel the hot and dusty roads of far-off India, 
the ancient thoroughfares of Pekin and Tokio or 
the modern streets of Sydney and Melbourne and 
observe how frequently the passing automobile 
leaves behind the imprint of Dunlop. 

From London to Capetown, from Bombay to 
Buenos Aires, the trail of the motor is, in large 
measure, the trail of Dunlop Tires. 

How true this is you would have realized had you 
attended any of the big international motor shows 
across the seas in the past few years. At one of 
these, for example, sixteen makes of tires were rep- 
resented on the cars exhibited, and 59 per cent of 
these tires were Dunlop’s, the fifteen other makes 
dividing the remaining 41 per cent. At another, 
Dunlop represented 52 per cent, thirteen other 
manufacturers absorbing the remainder. 

In the thirty-two years that have passed since 
Dunlop gave to the world the first pneumatic tire, 
both Dunlop idea and Dunlop institution have 
circled the globe. 

Today nine tire factories and scores of branch 
factories and depots scattered over both hemi- 
spheres are kept busy supplying the large share of 
the world’s tire business that is Dunlop’s. 

Moreover, Dunlop’s activities in the growing of 
rubber and the making of cotton fabric for Dunlop 
Tires, in themselves, represent great businesses. 


The following two pages sum up briefly what re] 


it means to you that Dunlop has circled 


EVENING POST 


Set out on a tour of Dunlop properties, and you 
will truly circle the globe, for you will traverse both 
hemispheres and visit every one of the following 
countries and cities: 


EUROPE ASIA 
ENGLAND Japan 
—- Factory, Kobe. Branches in prince iy al 
Tire Factories, Birmingham (3) Cities 
RimandW heel Factories,Coventry(2) CHINA 
Cotton Mills, Rochdale, Bacup, Factory Branch, Hong Kong 
I lollinwood, I lebdenbridge. INDIA 
Factors Branches, Leadon, Manche Factory Branches, Bombay, Calcutta, 
ter, Birmingham, Liverpool, Leeds, Delhi, Madras 


Newcastle-on- Tyne, Norwich, wy Pa a 
ac m . Ce r 
Nottingham, Bustol, Coventry. maay’ 
SCOTLAND Factory Branch, Singapore. 
Fac tory Bran hes, Glasgow, JAVA 
Edinburgh Factory Branch, Sourabaya. 
IRELAND ms ae 
. SOUT TRIC 
. 5 ) 3 s 
Fac tory Branches, Dublin, Belfast Factooy EXxanches, ¢ apstown, 
FRANCE Johannesburg, Durban 


Factories, Argenteuil, Mont Lucon 
Factory Branches in principal cities 


NORTH AMERICA 
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


BELGIUM Factory, Buffalo, N. Y 
Factory Branch, Brussels Cotton Mill, Utica, N. Y 
ITALY Branch Offices now being established 
Factory Branches, Rome, Milan, . 2 prex ipal cittes 
Bologna Capa 


Fac tory, Toronto 


SCANDINAVIA Fa tory Branches, Vi tora, Vancou 


Factory Branches, Copenhagen, ver, Edmonton, Calgary, Savka 
Stockholm toon, Regina, Winnipeg, London, 
Hamilton, Toronto, Ottawa, 


HOLLAND 


Fa tory Bran h, Amsterdam. Montre al, ot John, Halifax 


SOUTH AMERICA 


SPAIN ; 
Factory Branch, Madrid ARGENTINA 
eo i Factory Branch, Buenos Awes 
GERMANY BRAZIL 


Factory, Hanau-A-M. Factory Branch, Rio de Janeiro. 


In serving such a vast portion of the world for 
many years, Dunlop has touched all sides of the 
subject of tires and has gained an experience in 
tire-making and tire-marketing second to none— 
an experience which is now being turned to the 
distinct advantage of the motor car and motor 
truck owners of the United States. 


the globe. Tire merchants will find here 




















also information of special interest to them 

















77 


































THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


SERVING 


That America was the last of the great tire 
markets for Dunlop to enter is a fact of no little 
consequence to you who use tires and you who 
sell them. 


Dunlop comes to the United States now, after 
thirty-two years of tire-making, not only as a pio- 
neer of the industry but as a long-established inter- 
national institution with long-established and suc- 
cessful methods. 

It comes with a product which has been tried by 
many years of performance under the varying and 
often extremely difficult conditions of world-wide 
service. 

It comes with full recognition of the magnitude 
of the task and with abundant resources in men, 
materials and money. 

It comes, too, with something else equally im- 
portant—its conception of responsibility to those 
with whom it deals, whether these be manufacturers, 
merchants or tire-users. 

The great plant which Dunlop has built at Buf- 
falo is evidence in brick and steel of the way in 
which it is going about its work in America. 

Picture to yourself a broad tract of land, fronting 
on the Niagara River and containing 214 acres. On 
this property has been erected a series of buildings 
covering thirty-five acres, so arranged that their 
capacity to produce over twelve thousand tires a 
day can easily be doubled when expansion becomes 
necessary~—so easily, in fact, that the continuous 
operation of the plant need not be interrupted. 


This modern tire-building city contains every 
material means necessary for producing the highest- 
grade pneumatic and solid tires, as well as tubes 
and tire accessories. 


To this material equipment and this name of in- 
ternational reputation is added the established 
Dunlop policy. In brief, it is a policy whose 
corner-stone is the mutual interest of you who buy 
and use tires, of us who make them and of the 
Dunlop merchants who sell them. 


Dunlop considers that this mutual interest rep- 
resents a Dunlop obligation to build only the best 
product possible; to make it accessible to tire-users; 
to improve it in every way and, finally, to consider 
that Dunlop responsibility goes beyond mileage 
limitations and ends only with the last day the tire 
is in service. 

Dunlop merchants are men who believe as we do 
—who have selected us as truly as we have selected 
them—who are your representatives to us as they 
are our representatives to you. These and all 
other points in Dunlop policy are founded on the 
firm belief that what aids one aids all, and that, in 
the last summing up, your best interests and ours 


are identical. 
A + * 


Dunlop distribution is through retail channels. 
It will be national in scope and completely effected 
as rapidly as is consistent with the best “interests 
of tire-users and Dunlop merchants. We will wel- 
come the opportunity to discuss distribution plans 
with responsible tire merchants who are interested. 


DUNLOP TIRE AND RUBBER CORPORATION OF AMERICA 
BUFFALO, NEW YORK , 


If you have not already read the preceding 


two pages, turn to them now for an interest 


ing picture of Dunlop as a far-reaching 


International Institution 
































\ 





ry} 





























January 1,192! 








THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 
















































































So far there weren't any details. Rodney 
Sands hadn't the slightest notion that she 
was consider’: g the possibility of marry- 
ing him 

“T really want to know,” Sophie said 

Mr. Blodgett's face became grave 

“No,” he said, pursing his lips, “‘no—we 
shouldn't regard marriage as a disqualifica- 
tion.”” Sophie looked expectant 
imber of marrie d women 
taff,”’ he continued But it’s only 
that ir 


: There are an 


on our 
fair to say our experience marriage 
but usually — the 
You may 
our work, but you 


s usually—not always 
end of a busine 


ntend to pon with y 


woman's career 
kee 
probably won't.” 

Sophie to go 
wanted, and she wa 
it with Mr. Blodgett 
might ask her who the 
she was going to marry 

‘Thank you so much, Mr. Blodgett,” she 
said. ‘‘] want very much to keep my job.” 

‘Dan't be a hurry,” Mr. Blodgett 
aid, “It every day that I have a 
chance to give good He laughed 
‘Of course I know it’s too late to persuade 
you out of it even if I could.” 

Sophie tried to smile, but it was a pan- 
icky little smile. She wanted to get out of 
Mr. Blodgett's office as fast as she could 

‘And you know,” Mr. Blodgett con- 
tinued, “I like to see young women marry. 
Some business men are bitter on the sub- 
ject. They say they can’t train a woman 
for a responsible place before she up and 
marries and leaves them flat. And that’s 
But I can't get mad about it. When 
all's said, marriage is probably good for 
women, and if it isn’t good for business 
well, business will have to stagger along.” 

‘I really mean to keep on working for 
years,”” Sophie said 

“As a manager I hope you will,”’ Mr 
Blodgett said. “I like what you've done 
with the book department so far. You've 
pleased some of our most valued customers 
so much that they've let us know it.”” He 
smiled quizzically at Sophie. “I shouldn't 
want to fill your place on twenty-four 
hours’ notice, Miss Adams.” 

‘Thank Sophie said 
have my promise that 
If | ever do want to 
ample notice.” 

“That's settled then,” said Mr. Blodgett 

He turned to his desk. Sophie took a 
tep toward the door. She must get away. 

“Just one moment,”’ Mr. Blodgett said 
He lifted a typewritten list from his 
desk. ‘I’ve been making out the vacation 
schedule. It's the last of May now, and I'm 
Let's see— when are you going to be 


She had the fact she 
anxious not to discuss 
He was so friendly he 
man was and when 


rose 


isn 


e advice.” 
\ 


true 


“And you 
have to 


you 


you "7 
you won't 
leave I'll give 


late 
married?’ 

Sophie had a_ wild 
Sophie felt her cheeks 
could she say? What 
wouldn't agree to her plan? 
observed her confusion 

‘I don't mean to inquire 
he said in the kindliest 
the date will affect 
won't it?” 

‘Why -- why,” said Sophie, “I 
to be married very soon.” 

said Mr. Blodgett, “to be a 


impulse to flee 
grow hot. What 
if Rodney Sands 


M r Blodgett 


too closely 

tone ‘But of 
course your vacation, 
l expect 


“Well,” 
little more specific, | was going to ask you 
if you could take your vacation early this 
year. Everybody wants to goin August, 
and naturally everybody can’t. Of 
course if you're going to be married in 
August I'd make a point of m 

He looked at Sophie inquiringly 

‘Mr. Blodgett,” said Sophie desper 
ately, ‘I don’t know just what to say.’ 

“On the other hand,” he explained, “if 
you could go as early as the first week i: 
June I could perhaps arrange to give you 
an extra week, or even ten days.” 

“Mr. Blodgett,’ Sophie began—she 
must be purple in the face by now. What 
would he think? Could he guess that she 
didn’t know when she was going to be 
married—if ever? ‘Mr. Blodgett, I ‘ 

Again Sophie couldn't find words. 

Mr. Blodgett smiled Mr. Blodgett 
chuckled. “I see,”’ he said. “You want to 
consult him first!" 

*‘Why—-why—yes!”’ said Sophie. 

“That's all right,”’ said Mr. Blodgett 
genially. “You talk it over with him to 
night and let me know in the morning.” 

Sophie’s knees trembled. She had 
escaped—until to-morrow morning 

“Thank you, Mr. Blodgett,’ she said 
“Thank you so much,” 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


THE TROUBLE WITH WOMEN 


(Continued from Page 21) 


Sophie felt better when she got back to 
her little office off the book department. 
After all, everything had come out all right. 
She could hold her job, and that was the 
great thing. It remained only to tell Rod- 
ney Sands that they must be married at 
once. 

Instinctively Sophie reached for the teie- 
phone on her desk, and then she remem- 
bered she didn’t know where to find him. 
She would have to wait. The chance was 
that even now a note from him was waiting 
for her in her mail box in Thirteenth Street. 
If he hadn’t written he would call her on the 
telephone as soon as she got home—or he 
would come. Her immediate task was to 
clear up an infinity of details in the book 
department that she might leave it to Miss 
Snider for two weeks, or even three. 


vi 


SVOPHIE found her mail box empty. But 
J she assured herself that it was of no 
consequence—he would telephone. She 
wasn’t hungry, but she knew she ought to 
eat something, and so she employed her- 
self in constructing a salad of lettuce and 
tomatoes and shrimps with a Russian 
dressing. It became an excellent salad. 
Sophie arranged it with art in a bowl of 
dark-purple ware that was one of her few 
extravagances in furnishing. She surveyed 
it with pride. It was a large salad. In- 
deed, she made at least twice as much 
salad as she could eat all by herself. She 
had instinctively and unconsciously made 
salad not only for herself but for Rodney 
Sands. 

Sophie was perhaps a little shocked at 

herself when she realized what she had 
done. But why not? Why not get a 
dinner for him? A salad, however splen- 
did, was no meal for a man. She must 
have chops or a steak. Sophie 
did not want to leave her flat for 
as much as ten minutes, lest she 
miss his telephone call. She 
solved the difficulty by sending 
the janitor out to buy lamb 
chops. Meanwhile she put the 
salad in the ice box. She had 
some excellent potatoes. A 
baked potato would be a deli 
cacy at this season. You 
couldn't get a good baked po- 
tato inarestaurant. Besides, a 
baked potato would be good for 
him. He was too thin. He 
wanted feeding up. Sophie se- 
lected four large potatoes and 
put them in the oven to bake. 
Then she set the table in the liv- 
ing room for two and sat down 
to wait. It was nearly seven. 
He knew she always got home a 
little after six. He would call 
up any minute now, 


While She Was 

Applying Cotd 

Water to Her 

Eyes She Won: 

dered if She 

Could Find Rodney Sands by Telephone 


But Sophie was in no mood to sit still. 
There was a small stock of delicacies on the 
pantry shelf. She could improve his din- 
ner. She found a bottle of stuffed olives 
and a jar of preserved quince that her aunt 
had sent her from Indiana. The quince 
would make an attractive sweet. It was 
after seven when these additions were ready 
to serve. But Rodney Sands hadn't tele- 
phoned 

Sophie sat down in her armchair and 
composed herself to read the evening paper. 
She had made it rather a duty to read the 


evening paper. But she suddenly remem- 
bered that the potatoes had been baking 
an hour in an extremely hot oven. They 
were done. Sophie turned off the gas. But 
baked potatoes would, she knew, lose their 
virtue in five or ten minutes. She removed 
the four potatoes and pierced their skins 
to let the steam out. If he called imme- 
diately they would do. If he didn’t they 
wouldn’t. So Sophie got out the bag of 
potatoes. There were none quite so large 
or so fine as those she had already baked, 
but she hunted out six smaller ones that 
would do, and put them in the oven. They 
could bake until half past eight at a pinch, 
and Rodney Sands would turn up before 
that. But at half past eight Rodney Sands 
had not called up. 

Sophie began then really to worry. She 
must see him before morning—before she 
saw Mr. Blodgett. Had she taken all the 
heart out of him by her cool reception of hi« 
love? Sophie removed the second batch 
of baked potatoes from the oven. The po- 
tatoes she had left 
were small, al- 
most too small to 
bake. But she 
had set her heart 
on giving him 
baked potatoes. 

She put nine of 
the small ones in 
the oven. 

At half past 
nine Sophie cried 


a little, and re- 
moved the 
nine small po- 
tatoes, now as 
thoroughly 
baked as the 
original four 
and the suc- 
ceeding six. 
While she was applying cold water 
to her eyes she wondered if she 
could find Rodney Sands by tele- 
phone. She called up the Carlton. 
Yes, Mr. Rodney Sands had been 
registered there, but he had 
checked out. She called the New 
York Press Club. Nobody had seen Mr. 
Sands that day. 

Sophie tried to recall the name of some 
man Rodney had mentioned as a friend. 
The only one she could think of was Oswald 
Fane. She found Oswald Fane’s name in 
the telephone directory, but the operator 
rang his number in vain. At least she said 
she did. 

At half past ten Sophie went into her 
bedroom and lay flat on her back in the 
dark. She had eaten nothing, but she was 
not aware of that. She was thinking about 
Rodney Sands and—again of Mr. Blodgett. 
She had to give Mr. Blodgett an answer in 
the morning. At eleven o'clock the janitor 
would clese the switchboard of the building 
and then no one could ring her telephone 
till he went on duty again in the morning. 

Sophie heard the clock in a distant tower 
count out eleven. She might as well go to 
bed. But she knew she could not sleep. 
She needed to walk. She could think bet- 
ter when she walked. She could think 
best when she walked up her beloved Avenue 


January 1,192! 


in the dark. Sophie put on her hat and 
started down the stairs. At the first land- 
ing she paused, involuntarily, to listen for 
her telephone. Then she remembered that 
the board was closed. It couldn’t ring. 
Sophie stood on the top step. It was here 
that she had stood the night she had seen 
the two men slip quietly up behind Rodney 
Sands and pinion his arms. It was here 
that she had gripped her umbrella so 
fiercely. 

She looked down the street. There was 
Rodney Sands striding toward her. Sophie 
ran down the steps. He was walking with 
his head down. He didn’t see her. He was 
walking with the swing of a man who is 
walking a long distance. And now he lifted 
his head and looked up at her window. 
Sophie gave a little inarticulate cry. 

““Why, Sophie!”’ he said. 

“Rodney!” she said. 

He held out his hand. She took it in 
hers. He stood awkwardly looking down 
at her. Sophie released her hand. Sophie 

looked up at him. It was quite dark, 
but his face looked hurt—she could see 
that. She had hurt him. 

“Rodney —I—1—last night I wanted 
to tell you " 

The tears we.ied up in her eyes. 
could not sp ak. 

“My dear,” he said, and took her in 
his arms. 

Sophie clung to him. Sophie buried 
her head on his shoulder. He kissed 
her hair. He kissed her cheek. Sophie 
lifted her face. He kissed her mouth. 

“T love you,” said Rodney Sands, 
looking down into her eyes. 

Sophie looked bravely back. 

“I love you, too,”’ she said. 

“Last night I thought you didn’t 
care at all.” 

“But I did,” said Sophie. “I was 
just —just waiting for you to kiss me!”’ 

She laughed in spite of her tears. 

“You darling!’’ said Rodney Sands, 
and kissed her again. 

““Do you know,” he said, “I’ve been 
walking round this block for the last 
five hours. I must have walked twenty 
miles.”’ 

“Why didn’t you come up?” 
cried. 

“I didn’t dare. I was so sure I had 
lost you. I was afraid to see you, and | 
couldn't stay away. I came down here 
at half past six, but I couldn’t ring the 
bell. I thought if I walked round the 

block I might get my courage up. I’ve been 
walking round the block ever since.”’ 

Sophie laughed. She could laugh now. 

“And I,” she said, and paused to laugh 
“I’ve been baking potatoes for you. I 
baked three batches for you. I baked all 
the potatoes there were in the house.” 

Rodney Sands laughed his rueful laugh. 

“I'll eat them, Sophie,”” he said. “At 
least I'll try. But I felt so foolish the other 
day when I didn’t know whether I'd eaten 
or not that I ate four meals to-day. And 
an hour ago I stopped in that little restau- 
rant round the corner and ate ham and 
eggs. I’m awfully sorry, really.” 

“You didn’t know,” said Sophie. 

“But I know this,” said Rodney Sands 
grimly —‘‘I know I can get a job somehow, 
somewhere. And I'll work like a nailer. 
And if I do that, couldn’t—we could live 
very simply —couldn’t we be married in six 
months?” 

“We're going to be married next week,” 
said Sophie. ‘I have a three weeks’ vaca- 
tion beginning June first. We're going to 
spend it in a place I know up on the Cape.” 

“But I haven't any money or any job 
nothing!" cried Rodney Sands. 

“T have,” said Sophie Adams proudly. 

“But don’t you see? I couldn’t take 
your money!”’ 

“You must!” 

“But, after all, Sophie—I’m a man and 
you’re a woman.” 

“Rodney,” said Sophie earnestly—she 
took the lapels of his coat in her hands 
“IT know. But it is a silly, stupid conven- 
tion. It doesn’t fit a case like this. And it’s 
the only thing I'll ever ask you to be 
reasonable about. It’s the one thing I'll 
ever ask you to give up.” 


She 


she 


vir 
ITHIN a week the little house that 
Sophie had found was home to them 
both. It was a weather-stained house of 
(Continued on Page 83) 











THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 






! Pag moe © ae OM L Sane 
et nek ea Wa ee ey a ee ~ 
' # 


. sg re he 


































om ; 
~ 
vx ae he { 
33 ‘ Spag a 
jea” 
> l dered 0 
pant ree n 
re of oP “— ais mm "y 
The Qe o 
Quaker goes Italy one better! 
ee ; ad 
Milk Macaron, A///é Spaghetti—a wonderful 
improvement in richness, in flavor, in food value 
peru \PS you have not known it, but {re not potatoes creamed in milk far riches I Her you t) 
macare ni at spagherti have always been than potatoes simply boiled in water? Are Phus Quaker has taught Italy how t , 
made of wheat and alter. not your gravies and soups, yout puddings macaroni and paghe ttrexceptionally ri hy 
Che Italians have made them that way for and cakes far richer in flavor and nutriment good 
‘ - i . Al. 
hundreds of years. when you make them with milk? TI Ouaker | le f I 
, . ° ¢ lu UAKCI ha made tor you wh ) VV 
\ 1d Ame rican n anufacturer shave followed Wheat with milk—the perfect food foad delahts. wh ail 
their example, perfec ting, mainly, the meth , £4 3 1 ’ ' 1 | — 
} Dietitians to lus that we'd have tn milk and mukK and wheat, the fato th 
ods of packaging and al stributing these old- \ , 
| . : , wheat a perfect food combination. IPry Quaker Brand Milk Macar or NI 
time foods. , : $ 
> ss . : Wheat alone, they said, does not supply a Spaghett tonight Until you / e tr 
But we believed that macaroni and spa , er é' : 
\ : } : i ertain factor in which the merican diet 1s O nnot fully appreciate hov od the 
ghetti could be improved in the making. We ee a om fully ap} a | , 
; apt to be dencient But milk contains thi foods can be. 
wanted not simply new ways of serving them, . 
factor—the growth-promoting vitamine—in R aie dd 
ways for you to make them better. We sought food IG UAIME Pac ne 
. vreater Quantity than any otner Toor . ; 
a way in which we could make them better. — bt We pack more macaroni and spaghet | 
; . : Not only a better tasting macaroni and h | By th 
D| 7 From Nature’s larder we took two basi foods spaghe tti but a more nutritious macaron: and rs . | ae ia ws "I . 
t ’ . and othe osts, we i! i to v e ¥ 
We went to Nature S larder, first for wheat. spaghetti the n be came oul goal. 1 : hee or . ' 
' ] ] , better, mor Costly roduct t pbourt th 
, / And we found that here in America grew one And now, friends, we've reached that goal! ; prtee ; wr 
P : ; ‘ pri er ounce as ordinary Kind 
certain kind surpassingly rich in protein, great In Quaker Brand M/k Macaroni, Mz:// ; , 
golden kernels of wheat. We adopted it, de- Spaghetti. he smaller box we en | 
e , 9 wil ri} Y) | | rere? bo } 
. spite its higher cost. Such macaron}, uch paghetti you ve never full family meals. The lary ' ’ 
And then we thought of that other basic _ tasted! better value. 
) . , ° ° . . } ° j rm | 
food in Nature’s storehouse—miulk, the great Macaroni and spagh tti as rich as new po Ask your grocer for it today. If h 
; ° - 
i enricher. tatoes creamed in milk—as_ tender, when happer not to have it, write us, gi 
If we could put milk in macaroni and spa- cooked, as that kingly table delicacy, Brussels name, and we will see that y 
ghetti we knew we could make them richer = sprouts—as_ satisfying and wholesome as Phe Quaker Oats Company, 1 1-1 Ra 





fl than they could possibly be made with water. home-made bread and country butter. way Exchange Building, Chicago, U.S. A 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January i, /921 


Properly 


Why the Beauty of Your Hair 
Depends on the Care You Give It 


Illustrated by 


| ~ ALONZO KIMBALI 


\SLOMO AFI6SL> 
—_ 


§ b- beauty of your hair depends upon the it in thoroughly all over the scalp and throughout the 
care you give it entire length, down to the ends of the hair. 
Shampooing it properly is always the most im- 


portant thing. Rub the Lather In Thoroughly 


lt is the shampooing -— h bring a re , ‘an three teaspoonfuls will make an abundance of 
toatl ar Sig guar Pata gia rich, creamy lather. This should be rubbed in thor- 
makes your hair soft, fresh and luxuriant. oughly and briskly with the finger tips, so as to loosen 


l oO ai sary. dull and |} \ ifel A i . . 
Whe n your hair is dry, dull and heavy, litel the dandruff and small particles of dust and dirt that 
stiff and gummy, and thestrandscling together, and 


it feels harsh and disagreeable tothe touch, it is be 
cause your hair has not been shampooed properly. 
When your hair has been shampooed properly, 
and is thoroughly clean, it will be glossy, smooth 
and bright, delightfully fresh-looking ftandsilky. Weter. Then use another ap- 
While your hair must have frequent and regu plication of Mulsified. 
lar washing to keep it beautiful, 1t cannot stand [wo waters are usually 
the harsh effect of ordinary soap Che free al- sufficient for washing the hair; 
kali in ordinary soaps soon dri he sealp, but sometimes the third is When the hair 4 


tick to the scalp. 

When you have done this, 
rinse the hair and scalp thor- 
oughly, using clear, fresh 


makes the hair brittle and ruins it necessary. You can easily ‘ it a good thorough brushing 


Phatiswhy« iscriminating women use Mulsified tell, for when the hair is Se be wring it as dry as you can; and finish 
Cocoanut Oil Shampoo, This clear, pure ' ; by rubbing it with a turkish towel, 


and entirely gre ase less produc t cannot pos- shaking it and fluffing it until it is 
sibly injure, and it does not dry the scalp : ’ ' dry. Then, give it a good brushing. 
or make the hair brittle, no matter how , After a Mulsified shampoo you will 


a, 


often you use 11 ; = } find the hair willdry quickly and even- 
If you want to see how really beautiful er ly and have the appearance of being 
you can. make your hair look, just ; much thicker and heavier than it is. 
. rr« “* y ’ 
Follow This Simple Method If you want toalways _——aeeen 
SIRS he | gle 4 be remembered for your Sas 
4 , Wet the hair an caip im clear , T ? : ) 
|. ate . Ty little ~<a beautiful, well-kept > 
arm water en, apply a rttie ight ’ : hair. make i le 
: lean, wet hatr hair, ake it a rule to “ 
Mulsitied Cocoanut Oil Shampoo, rubbing ay u 1 ueaks set a certain day each ooo 
a 4 bem vy ‘ | on 
~< j ‘ , | = ' 


week for a Mulsified 
Cocoanut Oil Shampoo. 
c This regular weekly 
shampooing will keep 


% 
5 
> %! the scalp soft, and the 


‘ \ sal rinsing bright, fresh-looking 
\ 


1 leave the and fluffy, wavy and 


ftand silky easy to manage, and it 


‘ hair fine and silky, 
‘ ti waler 





will be noticed and ad- 
mired by everyone. 
Youcanget Mulsified 


perfectly clean it will be soft and silky in the water, 

the strands will fall apart easily, each separate hair E : 

floating alone in the water ° and the entire mass, even Cocoanut Oil Shampoo 

while wet, will feel loose, fluffy and light to the touch at any drug store or 
toilet goods counter. A 


and be so clean it will fairly squeak when you pull 
4-ounce bottle should 


' last for months. 

Rinse the Hair Thoroughly WATKINS 
HIS is very important. After the final washing — J : ) A Y 
the hair and scalp should be rinsed in at least two Cc 


ki changes of warm water and followed with a rinsing in REG U & PAT OF 


flather. Rub tt in thoroughly . : 
riskly with the finger tips cold water, When you have rinsed the hair thoroughly, @@COANUT O@L SHAMPOO Coovnsnerr 2900 


it through your fingers. 














aan 





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(Continued from Page 80) 
shingles, with windows of many tiny 
square panes, built round a great chimney 
after the fashion the Cape followed a hun- 


dred years ago—the simplest possible 
house. Within, the fireplaces were set in 


walls of painted wood, exquisitely paneled, 
the simple iron hinges and catches of the 
cupboards showing black against paint the 
color of ivory. 

The house was happily set in the brow 
of a wind-swept dune, a mile from any 
ne tahher. They saw no one except a clam- 
mer or two, save when they walked to the 
village for supplies. 

In the morning they paused for a mo- 
ment on the stoop and looked out over 
gray-green salt marshes through which the 
inlet doubled and redoubled on itself. A 
mile beyond, the Atlantic boomed on a hard 
white beach. Morning after morning they 
dived into the cold, salty water of the inlet. 
Day after day they sailed a Cape sharpie 
with a spritsail and an oar for a rudder 
down the intricate channel. Evening after 
evening they walked down the beach, the 
wind in their faces, hand in hand. 

Coming back, they would round a small 
spit of land, and then Sophie would take 
Rodney Sand’s arm. 

“Look!” she would say. 

They could see dimly the shape of their 
house against the sky, the windows pat- 
terned in yellow light shining through the 
dark. 

“T think it’s cool enough for a fire, don’t 
you?” Rodney Sands would say. 

And they would run up the path through 
the gorse and build a tiny fire of driftwood, 
and talk. They talked as neither of them 
had ever talked before. It was as if they 
had newly discovered the possibilities of 
communication. It was as if talk were no 
longer a means of concealment. 

They were so completely happy that 
Sophie overcame all her objections to ask- 
ing an additional favor of the kindly Mr. 
Blodgett. He had allowed Sophie ten days 
more than the regular vacation. She wrote 
after two weeks were gone and asked to be 
allowed to stay out the month on a leave of 
absence, and Mr. Blodgett had granted her 
the leave. 

Sophie had a never-flagging curiosity 
about Rodney Sands—his work, his friends, 
his life—with an intense eagerness to speak 
his language and see the world as he saw it. 
Nothing was too trivial to absorb her at- 
tention if it concerned Rodney Sands, not 
even studio slang. She began with the one 
word—the word ‘“‘amusing.”’ She had from 
her reading some hint of its studio use. 
Rodney Sands enlarged on it. 

“it’s the one word for every situation,” 
he explained with irony. ‘‘Whenever 
you're in doubt you say a thing’s amusing 
and know you're safe. If somebody asks 
your opinion of a full- length portrait in oils 
or a necktie or the Woolworth tower or a 
new overcoat or Fifth Avenue or Stravin- 
sky’s music or a Sheraton sideboard, you 
say it’s amusihg—you've paid it a compli- 
ment, you've proved yourself in the know, 
and you haven’t committed yourself to 
anything you can’t back out of later. If 
somebody shows you his most treasured 
work, and you don’t like it, you say it’s 
amusing. If you do like it, you say it’s 
amusing. Amusing is open sesame and 
abracadabra in the world of art—the perfect 
password and the universal excuse.” 

Rodney Sands couldn’t be quite so clear 
about the words he used himself in praising 
a drawing—words like “‘solid’’ and “fat,” 
for instance. 

“They aren’t so easy to explain,” he 
admitted. ‘I suppose it’s because they 
mean something.” 

“IT do want to know,”’ Sophie said. “I 
don’t expect to discuss art with your 
friends, but I'd like to listen intelligently.” 

Rodney Sands put his arm round her and 
drew her close. “‘ Honey,” he said, ‘‘it isn’t 
necessary to listen intelligently. Among 
artists it’s only necessary to listen.” 

“But I really want to know the things 
you're interested in,’ Sophie insisted. 

“Then know,” seid Rodney Sands sen- 
tentiously, ‘that there is only one universal 

and eternal truth in art, one law of beauty 
to which there is no exception, one touch- 
stone by which you may know the value of 
any work, whether it’s a pattern in a carpet 
or a Gothic cathedral—you like it or you 
don’t like it. And the corollary to that is, 
if you like it you're a bourgeois, and if you 
don’t like it you’re a connoisseur. 

“The trouble is,” Sophie said with knit 
brows, “I don’t always know whether 
I really like a thing—or not.” 








THE SATURDAY 


Rodney Sands shook his head with mock 
gravity. 

“Ah, Sophie,”’ he said sadly, “‘that will 
never do! That’s because you're honest. 
You'll never, never make a studio success.” 

Sophie raised her eyebrows. 

“You're getting bitter,”’ she said. 

She hadn’t yet observed that he was 
likely to grow bitter when he talked of art 
and artists. She hadn't as yet the slightest 
suspicion that Rodney Sands often hated 
the artist in himself; that he alternately 
loathed and loved the idea of himself as an 
artist. 

“I suppose,” he explained, ‘that I’m 
smarting for all the silly poses of my past. 
I didn’t discover art until I'd been drawing 
on newspapers for years, and then I got it 
bad. I’m not over it either, Sophie. I’m 
still a little sore because I wasn't born to be 
another El Greco.’ 

Sophie patted his hand. 

“I’m so glad you’ re what you are,” she 
said earnestly. “I wouldn’t have you dif- 
ferent.’ 

Rodney Sands smiled. 

“T wonder,” he said, “if any artist ever 
forgives himself for not being a genius of 
the first order? I suppose that’s the reason 
so many artists do such queer things. Peo- 
ple think they are trying to put themselves 
over on the public. But that isn’t the 
truth—quite. They’re really trying to put 
themselves over on themselves—to con- 
vince themselves that they really matter.” 

“T didn’t know that the really first-rate 
ones did awfully queer things,”’ Sophie 
said. ‘‘I thought they didn’t have to.” 

“It ought to work out that way,’’ Rod- 
ney Sands admitted. “But it doesn’t 
always. Take George Allenby. He’s a 
first-rate painter, if there ever was one, 
and yet he does the most outrageous things. 
I met him one morning in Broadway. He 
was the most dapper little man you ever 
saw—all tricked out with a monocle and a 
Malacea stick and mauve spats. He had 
seen an advertisement of a special sale of 
blankets—some marvelous bargain at 
Marcy’s. He was on his way to buy four 
double blankets, and I must come along 
and help carry them home. I told him to 
have them sent. But no, we must carry 
them home. When we found the counter 
it was being mobbed. It was ten deep with 
women. I told George we wouldn't get 
waited on before noon—there were hun- 
dreds ahead of us. I tried to argue him out 
of buying the blankets. But no, he had 
come to buy blankets and blankets he 
would have. He kept edging into the 
crowd and dragging me after him. I kept 
arguing that it was no use, but he kept on 
pressing in. We must have wormed in 
halfway to the counter before he’d admit 
that we couldn’t push any nearer. He 
stood there for a minute, and then all of a 
sudden he let out a yell—a shriek, rather 
a most terrible shriek. Everybody turned 
to look, of course. And then George pro- 
ceeded to put on the most realistic imita- 
tion of an epileptic fit lever saw. It fooled 
me. One woman fainted and the rest ran. 
I didn’t know what to do, so I stuck. 

“The moment the path to the counter 
was clear George Allenby screwed his 
monocle in his eye, walked up to the one 
seared clerk that was left, and said, ‘My 
good man, are these blankets all wool?’ 
The clerk said, ‘Why, no, sir, not all wool.’ 
And George Allenby said, ‘Then I don’t 
want them, do 1?’ and walked majestically 
out of the place, with me tagging behind.” 

“‘He must have loved attracting atten- 
tion,” Sophie said. 

“Yes. But why that sort? He’s had 
every honor there is as a painter. Why did 
he have to compete with people who have 
fits? After all, he can’t do fits any better 
than they can. And he can paint—he can 
paint like the devil. 

““T knew a young chap in Frisco who did 
almost the loveliest pastels I ever saw. 
But he wasn’t satisfied with that. Whistler 
was his god. He must not only do pastels 
that Whistler would have admired—he 
must look like Whistler. He tried to bleach 
a lock of his hair so it would be like 
Whistler’s famous white lock. He spilled 
the stuff and bleached his whole head 
white, and nearly lost his eyes.” 

‘That was very silly of him, of course,” 
Sophie said. “And yet I can _ under- 
stand it.” 

“Oh, I can understand it!’’ Rodney 
Sands exclaimed. “I understand it quite 
too well. I’m capable of being almost as 
much of a fool as that myself.” 

He got up and paced back and forth. 
Sophie leaned back in her corner of the 


EVENING POST 


sofa to watch him. He was wearing 
corduroy trousers and a shirt of that old 
blue flannel they make on the Cape, and in 
the firelight his tanned face was like bronze. 
He paused suddenly and faced Sophie. 

“Why do artists have to be fools?” he | 
cried. 

Sophie clasped her hands and put them 
behind her head and leaned back against 
them 

“Perhaps,” Sophie said slowly, ‘be- 
cause it’s so becoming to them.” 

Rodney Sands laughed and sat down in 
the other corner of the sofa. 

“Of course,” he went on more calmly, 
“IT don’t admit that artists are half so 
absurd as the critics of art. You remember 
Oswald Fane?” 

“Of course,” said Sophie. 

Oswald Fane and Gertrude had been the 
only wedding guests in the famous little 
church when Sophie and Rodney were mar- 
ried, and Oswald Fane had insisted on 
providing a wedding breakfast. 

“Well,” said Rodney, “Oswald Fane has 
made knowing about art his avocation 
He writes about it occasionally, but mostly 
he talks. He thinks the artist must be 
absolutely ruthless. He seriously believes 
that an artist who permits any human con- 
sideration to interfere with his art is un- 
true to his artistic self. You know the 
story of The Moon and Sixpence, and how 
the hero threw up his business and aban- 
doned his wife and children without stop 
ping to explain and we nt off to paint and 
never saw them again? 

‘Yes,”’ said Sophie. “It was suggested 
by a living painter, wasn’t it?’”’ 

Rodney Sands nodded. 

“IT suppose so. We were all discussing 
that book one night, and do you know 
what Oswald Fane's view was? He said 
that the man didn’t have the real stuff of an 
artist in him or he'd have abandoned his 
family sooner. And somebody mentioned 
Bernstein.” 

“Who's Bernstein? 

“Oh, he’s a crazy young sculptor. He 
does awfully queer figures—figures that 
look as if they had been starved to death 
and then flayed. Oswald Fane thinks he’s 
a great artist, and he certainly has got 
something. Oswald got a wealthy con- 
noisseur interested in him. He promised 
Oswald he'd buy one of Bernstein's things, 
but Bernstein didn’t like him, and when he 
inquired the price of a figure he wanted —a 
little thing cout eighteen inches high 
Bernstein said it would cost him ten thou- 
sand dollars. The man with the money 
protested that five hundred would be a 
fairer price. And Bernstein just up and 
threw the figure at him—smashed it all to 
bits against the wall 

‘Well, this night Oswald got to orating 
about Bernstein. ‘There’s an artist for 
you!’ says Oswald. ‘Money means noth- 
ing to him. You couldn't bribe him to do 
an inartistic thing—not with a million 
dollars... And young Chapman spoke up 
and said, ‘You couldn't bribe him to pay 
his debts either.”, And Oswald roared bac! 
‘What do I care for his debts? The mor 
people he owes the better. He's an artist.’ 
And Margie Patten said, ‘Why, he’s a 
regular pickpocket! He'll steal anything 
that's loose.” That sort of got Oswald, | 
suppose. Oswald stood up and shouted, 
‘What if he does? What's that got to do 
with art? I hope he does steal, and the 
more he steals the better for art.’"’ 

“What does a man like Oswald Fane do 
for a living?’’ Sophie asked 

“You won't ever tell, Sophie?” 

“Of course not!” 

‘It's a dead secret,” Rodney S 
plained. “But it’s too good to 
Most people think he has money of his own, 
but he hasn't. He's a credit man for a 
hardware jobber in Brooklyn.”’ 

Sop hie laughed. 

‘He was awfully funny at our wedding,’ 
Sophie said. He said to me, ‘Of course an 
artist has no business to marry, but if Rod 
ney must marry I'm glad it’s you.’ | 
laughed, and he said: ‘I meanit! The artist 
has just two enemies in this world. One 
popularity and the other is worman. But 
somehow I don't feel that you'll exploit 
him as most women would.’”’ 

‘That was his way of saying he 
you a lot,’’ Rodney Sands observed 

“T sort of liked him,” Sophie admitted. 
“T think he likes you.”’ 

“I’m not sure I liked your friend Ger- 

” Rodney Sands said. “She has the 


al ds x 


Keep 


liked 


trude,”’ 

kind of eyes that see right through you, and 

she looked at me as if she didn’t see much. 
(Continued on Page 86 


if S 


_i 


Lesuer, WHirMan & Co., 








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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192! 














Send for the 


“Wool Soap ee 
Calendar 


\. See offer belou 


A mother and her baby! In the old, old subject, artists 
have ever found a new, new interest—from the first 
erude figures on old church walls to exquisite modern 
madonnas. 








The Woo! Soap calendar for 1921 is a lovely mother and 
baby picture by Harold Brett The reproduction given 
here but faintly reflects the charm of the calendar in 
colors 

Fill out the coupon on the opposite page and get this calen- 
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LE. inner 
Oe eee te Se ws 


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cA ‘Fleecy Lather 

















THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


What every mother ought to know 
about her baby’s skin 


Suggestions given by the Government Children’s Bureau 


so large a place in the plan of a home 
—for Baby—there are just three 
necessities. 


He must have his food. He must have his 
sleep. And he must have his bath. 


Fei that small person who occupies 


Not the least important of the three is the 
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to life itself; but equally so to health and 
comfort. 


Keep Baby perfectly clean and you give 
him the best possible chance to be perfectly 
healthy. And much of his comfort is deter- 
mined by the condition of his skin. 


Baby’s bath must be regularly 
and caretully given 


The skin is one of the means through which 
the impurities of the body are carried off. 
It is, therefore, highly important that its 
pores be kept open by frequent cleansing. 


Regular bathing is necessary to keep the 
skin free from these bodily impurities and 
from outward sources of irritation and infec- 
tion that might lead to serious skin troubles. 


The extreme sensitiveness of a baby’s skin 
is almost beyond adult understanding. Ut- 
most care and gentleness must be used 
if its delicate, petal-like beauty is to be pre- 
served. 


Suggestions for the bath 


Every well baby should have one tub bath 
daily after it is ten days old. The bathing 
should be done quickly to avoid handling. 





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The bath water should be about body tem- 
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After the bath, the skin should be dried 
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with soft, warm towels. Never rub a baby’s 
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The baby should have its own special towels 
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The necessity of pure soap 
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A special soap should also be used for the 
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Wool Soap is made for just this purpose. 
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Every woman who loves a rosy, soft-cheeked baby 
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i 
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Chicago: Enclosed find 10 cents in stamps for 
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Name 


Address 





LOA OOOO eee 
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For Toilet and Bath 









Centinued from Page 83) 

‘But she did like you,” Sophie protested 
“She liked you a lot. She said to me—you 
know her queer way of talking—as if she 
were trying to get the whole story in ten 
words—she said, ‘Don’t approve, Sophie. 
Can't possibly ap prove. But like the man. 
~ may ibe a bad husband, but he isn’t a 
bad egg.’ 

‘You see,” said Rodney Sands, ‘ 
see through me.” 

“Nonsense!"’ said Sophie 


‘she did 


vail 


4) next morning Sophie woke at dawn 
She wondered what had wakened her 
and then she saw that Rodney Sands was 
gone. She slipped into some clothes and 
walked up the path to the top of the dune 
to look for him. He was sitting on the brow 
of the dune with his hands clasped round 
his knees watching the sunrise 

Sophie hesitated to disturb him, but she 
wanted to help him. She slipped quietly 
through the gorse and sat down beside him 
without speaking. He put his arm round 
her and drew her head down on his shoul- 
der. They sat silent for a long half hour 

“What's the trouble, Rodney?” she 
asked finally 

“Nothing,” he said 

Sophie waited 

“T can’t stand it 
bitterly. 

You can't 
Sophie asked gravely 

He shook his head, and then he 
down at Sophie and kissed her 

“T can't stand not working,” he said 
“T’'ve been happy. I've keen happier than 
I ever hoped to be, up here with you. But 
now I've got to go to work.”’ 

“Is it—is it that you didn’t have any 
money and we had to use mine?” Sophie 
asked 

Rodney Sands sat silent. 

“ After all,” he admitted, “I 
and a man likes to pay for things 

‘I suppose,”’ Sophie said humbly—‘'I 
suppose I oughtn’t to have asked you to 
let me doit. But ye 

Rodney Sands patted her hand. 

“I don’t mind,” he said. “At least, | 
don't mind much. The thing that’s re “ally 
getting me is something deeper than that.’ 

The sun was over the horizon now, and 
the thick mist that had covered the marshes 
was lifting so they could see the channel of 
the inlet for half a mile. A hint of a breeze 
came over the marshes, blowing the mist 
into long winding wreaths. The water of 
the inlet sparkled in the sun, 

“You see, Sophie,” he said, “I've got to 
make good. I never have made good. I've 
never even made a beginning, and I can’t 
wait any longer to make a beginning.” 

“Don't you call being a newspaper car- 
toonist at nineteen a beginning?" Sophie 
asked. 

“Look where I am now!" 

“Well?” said Sophie. 

“ After ten years I'm out of a job 
even get a job.” 

“You can get a job,” Sophie 
“What makes you think you can't?’ 

“I don’t think I can’t, I suppose. But 
I'm afraid I can’t. That's the whole part 
I'm afraid I can't, and so I've got to go out 
and try—right away.” 

“Allright,” said Sophie. “ But don’t get 
desperate about it. Don’t take it hard. I 
know you can get any kind of job you like. 
You know you can. There isn’t a man in 
New York who can draw the way you can.” 

Rodney Sands smiled. 

“I'd like to believe that, but I can’t. 
Why, Sophie, I woke up this morning in a 
kind of terror for fear I’d never be able to 
draw again!" 

“Honestly?” 

“Honestly!"’ said Rodney Sands 
scared-—I'm scared I can "t draw.’ 

“Then,” said Sophie, “the thing for us to 
do is to go right back to New York and let 
you find out you can.’ 

‘But you got an extra week— you've got 
ten days more. 

‘I've got you,” Sophie said, and snug- 
gled close against him. “‘That’s all I ask.” 

“Wouldn't you be disappointed?” 

“No,” said Sophie. 

Rodney Sands took her head between his 
hands and turned her face so he could look 
into her eyes. 

“You really wouldn't mind?” he asked. 

“Oh, perhaps the least bit,’ she ad- 
mitted. ‘Only the other matters so much 
more.” 

‘I'm afraid you'll be sorry 

Sophie shook her head 


any longer,”’ he said 


being married?” 


stand 


looked 


am aman 


I can't 


said. 


“I'm 


afterward.” 


THE SATURDAY 


“‘Don’t you remember what I said to 
you that night? I'd never ask you to give 
up anything again?”’ 

know,” Rodney Sands said. 
I feel awfully selfish to ask it.” 

“You needn’t,” Sophie smiled. “It 
won't be a sacrifice. It’ll be a privilege.” 

“T do want to go back to New York,” 
he said, “‘and there’s no use pretending I 
don't. I want to go back and get a job 
a regular job. And I want to paint on the 
side. I’ve got to paint. I've got to find 
myself, and I'll be no good until I do.” 

‘And I,” Sophie said—“I am so proud 
that you told me the truth. It makes me 
feel that you trust me.” 

Rodney Sands kissed her. 

“You are a peach, Sophie,”’ he said. 

“I'm your wife,” said Sophie, “and I 
want to understand.” 

* Ah,” said Rodney Sands, 
understand.” 

“You told me once the first time I saw 
- Sophie said, “that women didn’t. 
‘The trouble with women is that 
And I’m so 


“But 


“you do 


you, 
You said, 
they don’t understand art.’ 
afraid that’s—true.” 
Rodney Sands smiled. 
“That,” he said, ‘“‘is 
nonsense.” 


nonsense-— pure 


x 


YUM MER is the dull season in newspaper 
) offices. The sporting editor and his 
staff are busy enough. But business 
slackens, people are away on vacations, the 
courts close. 

Rodney Sands went religiously to every 
managing editor in New York and Brook- 
lyn. But none of them wanted either a 
cartoonist or a sketch artist. Those whose 
kindness prevented them from saying flatly 
that they hadn't a place for him asked him 
to call again in two weeks, and these Rod- 
ney Sands visited twice, though he knew 
what they meant. 

And when he had exhausted the news- 
paper offices he set about finding work in an 
advertising agency. The man who had 
given him the six little drawings to do in 
May was away on his vacation. After 
two weeks it seemed to Rodney Sands as if 
all the art managers in New York had gone 
away for their vacations. It was the first 
time in his life he had met a series of re- 
buffs. Sophie soothed his ruffled feelings. 

“It doesn’t matter,” shesaid. “Things’ll 
be different in the fall. A month or two is 
nothing.” 

“I know,” he admitted. 
awfully galling, just the same.” 

‘It’s terribly stupid of them,” Sophie 
assured him. “But don’t worry about 
them. They'll come round.” 

“But I'm not doing anything,” he pro- 
tested. “I'm a loafer—and a sponge.” 

“Why not draw anyway?”’ Sophie urged. 
“You've told me how you used to carry a 
sketchbook, and sketch eve srywhere you 
went. Why not do it again? 

“But you can’t sell odd sketches. I 
never sold one in my life.” 

“What of it? We don’t need money. 
We've hundreds in the bank.” 

“You've got money,” he argued. “I 
haven't.” 

“Oh, Rodney,” Sophie begged, “won't 
you forget that part of it? Won’t you?”’ 

‘But I've got to earn at least my own 
living, Sophie, and there’s no use pretend- 
ing anything else.” 

“You've got to draw,”’ Sophie insisted. 
“You draw—the money’ll come.” 

Sophie felt she had partly persuaded him 
with that argument. At any rate he began 
to carry a sketchbook. Sometimes he 
would sit all afternoon in Union Square 
sketching the people on the benches. If 
they went out to dinner he was sure to see 
a person who demanded to be drawn, and 
he would manage, with Sophie for a shield, 
to put down the few lines he needed to 
record his impression. Once they were 
put out of a restaurant by an irate head 
waiter who objected to this use of the 
patrons. But usually it was possible to 
sketch half a dozen people without attract- 
ing attention, and Sophie liked nothing so 
much as to find a subject for his pencil 
one he responded to. 

“It gives me the illusion of helping you,” 
she said. “It makes me feel asif I counted.”’ 

“You'll never know how much you 
count,” he assured her gravely. “If it 
weren't 7 you I'd have given up—I'd be 
a bum. I'd have tried to get to Tahiti or 
Mexico or Yucatan, and by now I'd be 
trying to get a square meal by begging it 
off somebody's cook.” 

“Why Tahiti or Mexico or Yucatan?” 
Sophie asked. 


“But it’s 


EVENING POST 


“Tt’s the Gaugin dream,” he explained. 
“The dream of burying yourself in some 
tropical country and steeping yourself in 
color and painting as no man ever painted 
before. It’s only in the tropics that you 
see color. In the north everything is drab 
and everything is small. We don’t know 
what color is. But down there everything 
is big, and the color is just--just smashing.” 

“TI suppose you ought to go,” Sophie 
said slowly. 

“No,” said Rodney Sands. “Seeing 
color isn’t the same thing as painting it. I 
can see color, but I can’t paint. I haven’t 
it in me. Any gift I haveisfor people. I’m 
always interested in people. Sometimes 
I think I can really draw people.” 

Sophie was half convinced that he had 
given up any idea of being a painter. It 
was true that he was interested in people. 
He was enthusiastic about people. He 
grew lyric over a group of day laborers they 
saw going home from work in a street car. 

“Why is it,” Sophie asked him, “that 
you are so fascinated by poor, ugly, ill- 
dressed people? Is it that you sympathize 
with them more than with the others?”’ 

Rodney Sands shook his head. 

“It’s because it’s so much easier to make 
something out of them,” he said. “‘They 
reveal the true shapes of their bodies so 
much more completely than well-dressed 
people do. If a man’s clothes are made by 
a good tailor and kept in press you can’t see 
the man for the clothes, and it’s even more 
true of women than it is of men. If you 
want to see what human beings are really 
like you want to look at them when they 
are tired—when they’re wearing the clothes 
they’ve been working in for a month. It is 
only then that they forget to pose. 

“Of course,”” he added, “I’m talking 
about civilized people. Savages don’t wear 
so many clothes as we do, and they aren’t 
so self-conscious.” 

“That’s another reason for wanting to 
go to the tropics,’’ Sophie suggested. 

Rodney Sands grinned. 

“T’ve got ail the material [ want right 
here in New York, Sophie,” he said. “I 
couldn't draw all there is to see in this town 
if I lived nine lives.” 

But Rodney Sands’ enthusiasm for 
sketching the natives of Manhattan Island 
was brief. He grew more and more irri- 
table. Sophie urged him to set up a draw- 
ing table and work up some of his sketches 
into finished drawings. He occupied him- 
self in doing this for a week or ten days, but 
it did not satisfy him. 

“There's so little in it, Sophie,’’ he said. 
“7 want to draw for publication. A draw- 
ing isn’t a drawing to me unless it’s 
published.” 

Sophie considered this problem for two 
days. She was deep in the affairs of the 
book department at Millman’s from nine 
to five. But she had cut down the time 
she had formerly allowed to keeping in 
touch with the new books almost to noth- 
ing. For the moment it didn’t matter. 
Few books are published in August. But 
September was coming, and with it the 
autumn flood of books. She couldn’t do 
her job then unless she spent hours every 
evening keeping up. She had hoped that 


somebody would send for Rodney and give . 


him a job, but so far nobody had. She was 
face to face with the fact that he hadn’t got 
a job. They weren’t spending any more 
money than she was earning. She saw no 
immediate financial difficulty. But the 
state of Rodney’s mind was getting worse. 
She was already failing in the task of keep- 
ing him cheerful, and she foresaw that even 
if she scamped her job during the fall rush 
and devoted all her spare time and energy 
to him she would still fail. He needed work, 
and he was going soon to need it desper- 
ately. She knew nothing of the ways in 
which artists earn a living except what she 
had learned from Rodney. But there must 
be other ways than the ways he had tried. 
It wasn’t reasonable that a man of his 
talent should want for work. It wasn’t 
credible. 

One evening after dinner she sat down 
in the familiar armchair by the reading 
lamp with a new novel she needed to skim. 
But her mind refused to obey her. She sat 
thinking about Rodney. He was sitting 
at his drawing table trying out a new pencil 
and a new kind of paper. Sophie watched 
him. He had the air of a man who knew 
exactly what he was doing—the air of the 
competent workman. It was always that 
way when he sat down at a drawing table. 

“Rodney,” said Sophie, “why couldn’t 
you do magazine illustrations?” 

He shook his head without looking up. 


January 1,192! 


“You could, of course,”” Sophie said. 

Rodney Sands laid down his pencil and 
lit a cigarette. 

“The magazines wouldn’t consider my 
kind of thing,’”’ he said. “They want—I 
don’t know what they want. Illustrating’s 
a trick, and I haven’t got the trick.” 

“Did you ever try?” 

“T did once,” he admitted. “I took a 
bunch of my stuff round to the art editor of 
Stannard’s when I was on the Commercial 
Reporter. He said he liked it, but he didn’t 
give me anything to do.” 

“Just what did he say?’’ Sophie per- 
sisted. 

“He said he didn’t have a story in the 
shop to give out, and that I might come 
back later. I knew that was just a stall 
just his way of letting me down easy.” 

“Didn’t you ever go back?” 

“Of course not.” 

“But perhaps he didn’t have anything to 
give out.” 

Rodney Sands smiled wearily. 

“Perhaps he didn’t. But if he really 
wanted my work he’d have found some- 
thing—that’s all.” 

Sophie tried again to skim the novel in 
herlap. It was half an hour before she asked 
another question, and this time she rose and 
stole up behind Rodney Sands and put her 
arm round his neck. 

“Do you mind if I look over your shoul- 
der?” she asked. 

“Not a bit,’’ he said. 

Sophie laid her cheek against his and 
looked down at the drawing. He had 
drawn from memory the two of them in the 
stern of the sharpie they had sailed those 
weeks on the Cape when they had been so 
happy—drawn it deftly and pleasantly, 
with a kind of romantic glamour. 

“Tt makes me homesick,”’ Sophie said. 

“TI wish we were back there, too, Sophie. 
I suppose that’s why I drew it—to capture 
again the feeling I had then.” 

“And now,” Sophie said, 
you’ll never be happy again.’ 

Sophie felt as if she were going to cry. 
Sophie felt that she had failed him. 

‘No,” he insisted. “But I’m most 
awfully sick of loafing. It ruins me to loaf, 
Sophie.” 

“Why don’t you try the magazines, 
Rodney?” 

“They'd only turn me down,” he said. 
“And I’m tired of being turned down.” 

“But I can’t believe it!’’ Sophie cried. 
“T haven’t seen a drawing as nice as that 
in a magazine—not in a year.” 

“Tt is rather nice,” he admitted. ‘But 
it isn’t magazine stuff.” 

“Why, Rodney,” Sophie insisted, ‘I 
_ a magazine would jump at stuff like 
that!” 

“That’s because you don’t know.” 

“But wouldn’t you take it round and 
show it to somebody? Couldn’t you do 
that?” 

He shook his head. 

“But, Rodney—all magazines aren't 
alike—couldn’t you pick out one that would 
like it?’’ Again he shook his head. 

“It might do in some very cheap maga- 
zine, but I doubt it. Andrew Forrest might 
like it—he might happen to.” 

““Who’s Andrew Forrest?” 

“‘He’s art editor of Crandall’s Magazine. 
It goes in for three-color plates and etch- 
ings and that sort of thing. It’s artistic.”’ 

“*Show it to him!’’ Sophie cried. 

“Show him one drawing?”’ 

“Why not?” 

“That isn’t the way it’s done. You go 
in with a whole portfolio of your stuff. You 
couldn’t sell yourself on one drawing.” 

“T can’t argue with you,”’ Sophie cried 
in exasperation. “But you’re wrong—l 
know you're wrong.” 

Rodney Sands smiled a slow, bitter smile. 

“‘IT wish I were wrong, Sophie.” 

“No, you don’t. Sometimes—sometimes 
I think you don’t want to succeed.” 

Rodney Sands winced as if she had struck 
him. They were nearer to quarreling than 
they had ever been. Sophie could not bear 
the idea of quarreling with him. Sophie 
threw both arms round his neck. 

“Forgive me!’’ she cried. “I didn’t 
mean it—you know I didn’t mean it.” 

Rodney Sands held her close. And then 
the tears came. Sophie sobbed and sobbed, 
and when she had cried her heart out on his 
shoulder it seemed as if they were back 
where they had been in the days on the 
Cape. It seemed as if somehow they were 
meant for each other, and everything would 
come right —it must. 


“you think 


(TO BE CONCLUDED) 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 





HERE COMES THE HURDY GURDY MAN 












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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192! 


MORRIS) © 
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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


, ue 
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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 





THE LIEUTENANT OF THE MARBLE VENUS 


(Continued from Page 17) 


“Hush!” I said. “Don’t talk like that, 
Charles! It’s wicked and untrue. Your 
maman loves you with all her heart, I am 
certain.” 

“I know,” he answered with his childish 
gravity. “She loves me, but is sorry I was 
born. Women are like that.” 

I could not help laughing at that last 
remark from this philosopher who knew 
few women but his mother and Madame 
Bertrand. But as I laughed I had a sense 
of some tragedy which had cast a shadow 
over this child’s mind, though he knew no 
more than I did, perhaps, as to the specter 
behind the shadow. 

His girl mother, Madame de Thilloy, 
answered the bell when I rang at the door 
of his appartement. She embraced her boy 
and then turned to me graciously. 

“You are very kind, monsieur. W vill you 
not come in and take a glass of wine? 
have a friend with me who would 
be glad to meet you.” 

It was Charles who shouted 
the friend’s name with glee. 

“Le Lieutenant Méricourt!”’ 

A faint color crept over the 
pale skin of Madame de Thilloy 
as she answered, “ Yes, it is our 
lieutenant.” 

I excused myself once or twice, 
but as she pressed me I yielded 
to an invitation which seemed 
sincerely given. 

She led the way into her little 
salon, poorly but prettily fur- 
nished, as I saw at a glance, and 
with that faint scent of polished 
wood and black coffee which lin- 
gers always in French rooms, and 
seems—even in imagination, as 
I write these words—to bring 
back memories of France. A fig- 
ure rose as we entered, and I saw 
that it was a young officer of the 
Chasseurs Alpins, with an empty 
sleeve and a row of medals, and 
a fine hard face of southern type, 
with black eyes and ruddy skin. 
The boy was hugging him round 
the waist, but when Madame de 
Thilloy presented him he stood 
straight and bowed formally, 
and gave me his hand with a cor- 
dial gras 


“You have our D. S. O. be- 
sides all the others!” I said, 
glancing at his medals; and he 


smiled and answered, with just a 
touch of the south in the roll of 
his r’s: “I am proud of that! I 
was in Flanders on the left of 
your troops in the April fight- 





He had his one arm round the 
boy now, and we chatted a lit- 
tle together. 

Meanwhile Madame de 
Thilloy brought out some wine 
and filled three glasses. 

“Charles, my child,” she said, 
“go and wash your face and 
hands. They are enormously 
dirty.” 

But Charles protested. 

“Maman, let me have some 
wine, too, on this day of the Vic- 
tory March!” 

I saw her hesitate, looking at 
her boy with thoughtful eyes. 
The French lieutenant laughed 
and smoothed the lad’s hair. 

“Why not? It will do him no 
harm to take a sip.” 

“The smallest drop!”’ said 





drink. She saw that I noticed that, for she 
turned to me with a quick smile and gave 
me an explanation. 

“‘Let us not think of the enemy to-day! 
Let us remember only our heroes, alive and 
dead!” 

I liked her for that. There was no need 
now to say “A bas les boches!"" They were 
down and out, and remembering their own 
dead and their irretrievable ruin without 
consolation of any kind. In the hour of 
great victory we could afford to be chiv- 
alrous even to Germans. 

During that hour I stayed with Madame 
de Thilloy I noticed two things which made 
me wonder a little about the meaning of 
this girl’s life. I noticed—it was impossible 
not to see so plain a thing—the adoration 
of the French lieutenant for this lady. 
There was a homage in his eyes, which fol- 
lowed her about the room whenever she 


for France. It was not on the mantelshelf 
or in any corner of the room. 

While the lieutenant told some story of 
the war my mind wandered down byways 
of imagination in that absurd way which 
most minds have, almost subconsciously, 
of tracking down a thought to fanciful 
conclusions. 

“This girl’s husband is a bad hat,” I 
thought. ‘Perhaps he ran off with some 
other woman in the war. Or perhaps he 
was a coward or a traitor who has dis- 
graced his name. A traitor! Yes, that 
would account for what the old concierge 
said about the boy. ‘It’s a pity he was 
ever born!’ That would be horrible. To 
be the wife of a man shot as a traitor, like 
that fellow Bolo. Still, vf course, it may 
be the other way round. Perhaps Madame 
de Thilloy was not as faithful as she might 
have been, and now is conscience-stricken 


the French Punch 


antics of Polichinelle 
in the Champs-Elysées, or went for pi 
ratical voyages on the lake of the Bois de 
Boulogne which ended happily with rose 

tinted ices on the Ile des Chalets. Some 
times the Lieutenant Méricourt joined 
these expeditions, and I came to like that 
Chasseur Alpin with an empty sleeve. He 
was a gay-hearted fellow, with something 
of the spirit of those old troubadours of 
Provence whose poetry he knew by heart 
and recited with a tenderness and passion 
which made it live again. He was always 
singing little old omnes of France, to the 
great joy of young Charles; and some 
times, but not often, he told stories of his 
adventures in the war. That was when 
Charles pleaded hard with him. 

“Mon lieutenant, tell me of how you 
captured the chateau of Vermelles. As a 
great treat, mon lieutenant!"’ 

“No, no, Charles, let me for 
get the smell of blood and the 











Madame de Thilloy, and she 
poured out a little wine into a 
fourth glass. It was the lieuten- 
ant whoraised his first and proposed a toast. 

“A notre belle victoire!’’ 

We clinked glasses and drank, remember- 
ing the years of horror. 

“A la France!’ I said next, and both 
Lieutenant Méricourt and Madame de 
Thilloy answered by raising their glasses 
to me and saying very solemnly, “A nos 
Alliés!’ 

Then it was the turn of Charles, and 
drinking be fore he gave the toast with a 
great gulp of his little drop of wine, raised 
his glass like a Laughing Cavalier, and 
shouted, “A bas les boches!”’ 

I laughed at that, and so did the lieu- 
tenant, who repeated the words and drank 
the toast; but I saw that Madame de 
Thilloy put her glass down and did not 





sight of dead men! War is a 
dirty business —idiotic!’’ 

“But I want to hear how you 
fought the “Germans with the 
marble Venus.” 

“Poor lady! She was a figure 
of love, not made for such ascene 
as that. I will tell you the tale 
of Le Chat Botté.” 

‘“*‘No, no, mon licut mani! 
Please! I want to hear about the 
fat Germans sticking halfway 
through the ceiling, and how 
they squealed when your men 
poked them with bayonets.” 

The lieutenant turned to me 
when the boy pleaded like that, 
and laughed in a comical way 

“Youth is very bloodthirst 
How are we going to kill he 
spirit of war in the human heart? 
You see, even now, so soon after 
the massacre which has destroyed 
the best blood of Europe, young 
ears listen to the tales of war as 
though! they were the exploits 
of Jack the Giant Killer!” 

“Better than that, mon lieu- 
tenant/”’ cried Charles. “I like 
the true tales best. Tell us about 
the chateau of Vermelles.” 

So, spilling a little wine on the 
wooden table under the trees on 
the Ile des Chalets, that flower 
strewn isle on the lake of the 
Bois, Armand Méricourt made 
a map of Vermelles, with the 
French lines round the village 
and the chateau in the center of 
the German stronghold. 

“‘T was here with my company. 
We had a machine gun behind 
some sandbags, but we had to 
keep our heads down, I can tell 
you, because the Germans had 
snipers in the windows of the 
chateau, five hundred yards 
away, and killed any man who 
showed his pate for a single sec 
ond. I had eight men killed like 
that, and their bodies lay un 
buried among us for three days, 
and we watched their faces go 
black and their bodies swell out 
in the heat. Not amusing that, 
my little one!” 

Not amusing, but terribly 
thrilling to young Charles, who 
listened with his mouth open, 
drinking in this tale. 

“We were preparing a mine to 
blow up the garden wall before 











“You, Too,"* Growted This Chasseur Alpin, “if You Stand in My Way!" 


moved. It was indeed more than homage. 
It was a spiritual hunger. The man desired 
this woman’s love so that the sound of her 
voice was music to him and every gesture 
she made was a beauty in his eyes. But he 
called her always madame, and spoke with 
a reverence and courtesy that disproved 
any notion I may have had that they were 
lovers, accepted and acknowledged. The 
second thing that intrigued me somewhat 
was the absence of any photograph of this 
woman’s husband. My gaze roved about 
the mantelshelf for the usual portrait of a 
French soldier—officer or poilu—draped 
in the tricolor, as in «.» many homes of 
France where women waited for their men, 
or on such a day as this gazed at the 
image of one of those martyrs who had died 


at the thought of the dead man, who, being 
dead, knows her guilt. No, that is ridicu- 
lous and caddish. What right have I to 
build up theories about this poor girl? 
How one’s brain busies itself with other 
people’s affairs!”’ 

After that evening on the féte day of 
victory I became a frequent guest in the 
little salon of Madame de Thilloy, owing 
to the devotion of young Charles, who 
shared me in his affection, it seemed, with 
his heroic lieutenant. Together we fought 
the Battle of the Marne and many bloody 
episodes of trench warfare on the polished 
boards of his mother’s sitting room with 
the little lead soldiers who had astounding 
qualities of courage and élan; and on 
sunny afternoons we stood watching the 


an assault on the chateau. You 
remember I have told you how 
we fought through the little gar 
dens and from wall to wall before we reached 
the outskirts of the small place in which 
the red brick chateau stood. Many of my 
poor comrades had fallen and at night we 
could hear the wounded crying and groan 
ing, where many of them lay half buried 
under piles of bricks and earth flung on top 
of them by shell fire. Not good sounds t 

hear at night above the chatter of the 
mitrailleuses!"’ 

Not good sounds, but the boy Charle 
made a tattoo on the wooden table with his 
finger nails to imitate machine-gun fire 

“The chateau was stuffed with German 
machine guns. All day and all night they 
swept the little place, and I knew that when 
we made our hole through the wall it was 
(Continued on Page 95) 





.S be 
** 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


January t, 192! 





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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


January 1,192/ 





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(Continued from Page 91) 
my job to cross that place with my com- 
pany and lead the assault on the chateau. 


‘C'est dréle, ca,’ I said to myself a thou- 
sand times. ‘To-morrow I shall be dead. 
To-day I am alive. I am very thirsty. 
These two hands of mine = 

**One hand,” said Charles. 

“Two hands, my little one. It was be- 
fore I lost my arm. ‘These two hands of 
mine can touch, press the trigger of a 
machine gun, obey every direction of my 
brain. To-morrow, when I cross that 
sacrée place, they will be like the hands of 
that dead body sticking out of loose earth 
a yard away from where I stand alive 
limp, leathery, dead. That is queer,’ I 
thought. ‘It is also damnable.’”’ 

“*Were you frightened?’’ asked Charles. 

**Enormously frightened,”’ answered the 
Lieutenant Méricourt, and this confession 
of a great hero thrilled the boy with a kind 
of exquisite horror. 

“It was at eleven o’clock in the morning 
that we mined the wall. It went up witha 
roar and a cloud of red brick dust. ‘Come 
on, you imbeciles!’ I shouted to my men 
they loved me to call them imbeciles 
and, as mad as devils, we made a rush 
into the place, where the red chateau stood 
with shell holes in its walls and sandbags 
in its windows, and mitrailleuses lashing 
the ground about us with wicked little 
bullets.” 

““What happened then?” asked Charles, 
who had heard this story before and knew 
exactly what happened. 

“A funny little thing happened,” said 
the Chasseur Alpin, forgetting the boy a 
little and speaking to me, with somber eyes 
in which was the memory of a maurais 
quart d’heure. ‘‘A German officer, seeing 
the mine explosion, came rushing out of 
the chateau with some machine gunners to 
stop our way through the wall, but before 
he could get his gun into action we were on 
him with our bayonets. The fool had left 
the chateau door open, and that gave us 
our chance. We made a dash for that open 
door. I think it was fear that made us 
make for it, to get cover from the mitra- 
illeuses, which were vomiting lead about us. 
I had a pain like a red-hot poker through 
my right arm, and I remember cursing 
with the foulest words. And I remember 
seeing some of my men bowled over like 
rabbits as they ran. And after that I re- 
membered nothing until I was inside the 
drawing-room of the chateau with half a 
dozen lads. We panted there like pigs, and 
there was a strange silence in the room 
except for that hard breathing. It was a 
well-furnished room, with a piano in the 
corner and some plush-covered chairs torn 
by rifle fire and covered with plaster which 
had fallen from the ceiling, leaving only the 
naked laths up there. And in one corner 
of the room was a wooden pedestal with a 
figure of Venus on it, in white marble, 
unbroken.” 

The boy Charles drew a deep breath and 
smiled at this mention of the marble Venus. 
It was the choicest thrill of the story. 

“Upstairs there was the noise of men’s 
voices— German voices — shouting and curs- 
ing. I think they had found out we were 
in the house. We let them know for cer- 
tain. I fired my revolver through the 
ceiling, and heard the cry of a wounded 
man. Then my men smashed the laths with 
the butt ends of their rifles. Two of them 
stood on the sofa to reach the ceiling better. 
The laths gave way, and some Germans 
came through half-and-half, with their legs 
dangling. 

“They were screaming, and my men 
laughed when they stuck them with bayo- 
nets. It was very comical. I was laugh- 
ing like a madman— you know how it is in 
war—when the whole ceiling came down, 
and a dozen Germans fell on top of us. 

“Tt is difficult to remember details, mon- 
sieur. It isa little like a dream afterward 
a nightmare. I remember that one of my 
lads had his nose bitten off by a German 
who was on top of him, and another, a 
Breton, strangled a big German with his 
two thumbs on the windpipe, which made 
a strange, gurgling noise. I had lost my 
revolver when the ceiling came down, and 
had no weapon. It was then that I seized 
the marble Venus with my left hand. You 
remember, I told you of that pain in my 
right arm, like a red-hot poker? It was a 
good thing, that white Venus, hard and 
handy. I held her by the legs and brained 
a German who sprang at my throat. After 
that, two more. Then the Venus broke in 
half, and I was at the mercy of a German 
officer who stood by the open door of the 


-prettier than the smoke of shell fire.’ 





little salon with an automatic pistol which 
covered me. I had not seen him before, 
but now I stared into his eyes and made 
ready to spring at him. Suddenly he 
dropped his pistol, and before he could 
stoop to pick it up I had my foot on it. 
He spoke to me in French. 

““*Tt is strange to meet here, 
Méricourt.’ 

“I stared at him again, and said, 
are you, Schweinhund?’” 

“Once we were friends,’ he said, and 
I remembered him as a man I had known 
in Dresden before the war, when I was 
studying music. 

““*Now,’ I said, ‘we are not friends, and 
I am going to kill you.’”’ 

“But you did not kill him!” said Charles. 

“No, he was too quick for me. He 
turned from the door and ran down a 
passage which led to the garden of the 
chateau. He was the only German who 
escaped alive from the chateau of Ver- 
melles. I am sorry he escaped.” 

“So am I,” said Charles. ‘But it is a 
splendid story.” 

Armand Méricourt touched his empty 
sleeve. 

“It cost me that.” 

“Queer coincide nce, meeting that Ger- 
man at such a time!’’ I said. ‘‘What was 
his name? 

“T have forgotten his name.” 

He put his one arm round the boy 
Charles, who snuggled close to him ador- 
ingly, and said tenderly: ‘‘Sometimes I 
wish to forget all those years of war as 
completely as I have forgotten that man’s 
name. Peace is better, cleaner, more 
beautiful, here on the Ile des Chalets, with 
roses in bloom, and boys making love to 
their girls, and white clouds that are 


Armand 


“Who 


I know now that he remembered the 
German’s name as well as that scene in the 
chateau of Vermelles. It was Madame de 
Thilloy who told me the name a few nights 
later, when I sat with her alone, after the 
boy had gone to bed. 

We had been playing a game of cards 
together for the amusement of Charles, 
and I noticed that the girl’s hand trem- 
bled when she played, and that once when 
there was a knock at the door she let all 
her cards fall, to the great disgust of 
Charles, and stared toward the door with 
a panic look. 

It was only the postman, but that she 
was suffering from a sense of fear I knew 
when I rose to take my leave, as soon as 
Charles had gone off to his room. 

“Stay with me a little while,”’ she said; 
and then in a pitiful way, “I am fright- 
ened.” 

The confession was so abrupt that I was 
startled, and more alarmed when suddenly 
she lost control of her nerve and wept with 
most passionate grief. I could do nothing 
but utter silly, soothing words, with the 
awkwardness of an Englishman at such a 
time, and presently she gained some self- 
control and begged me to pardon her for 
such lack of dignity, such foolishness. 

I lit a cigarette and chatted about small 
things, while she mopped her eyes, and 
then mentioned Armand Méricourt and 
his wonderful story of the chateau of 
Vermelles, and his strange meeting with 
the German he had known in Dresden. 

“It's a pity he has forgotten the man’s 
name,” I remarked to keep the conversa- 
tion going. 

“He has not forgotten,” said Madame 
de Thilloy, ‘‘and I will tell you.” 

She spoke witha curious emphasis which 
gave her words a sense of tragedy, though 
why I could not guess. 

‘His name,” she said, with a quick in- 
drawing of breath, “is Franz von Miirren 
He is my husband, and the father of 
Charles.” 

I confess that I was dumfounded by 
these words, and could think of nothing on 
earth to say except some foolish murmur of 
“Really!” or ‘Good gracious!’’ which did 
not meet the case at all 

“You know his name?”’ asked Madame 
de Thilloy more calmly, after her astonish- 
ing confession. “‘He was a famous singer 
before the war.” 

Yes, l remembered then. He had taken 
London by storm at Covent Garden as 
Lohengrin, on a gala night, when the King 
and Queen were there. A young, tall man 
with blue eyes and a handsome, boyish 
face. His portrait had been in all the pic- 
ture papers. He had been interviewed a 
score of times. He was lionized in London 
society before going abroad again to many 
capitals of Europe. 





THE SATURDAY 


EVENING POST 


That evening in the little salon Madame 
de Thilloy, as she called herself now by her 
maiden name, told me with wonderful 
candor and simplicity the story of how this 
young German had fallen in love with her 
and she with him. She did not deny her 
love for him in those days when she had 
been a pupil of his, or the happiness of 
their married life when for three years 
before the war she had traveled with him 
and then, before another season of opera 
which never came because the drums of 
death played other music in the world 
lived with him in a big old house at Auteuil, 
be yond the roar of Paris. 

‘That was the house that Charles re 
members,”’ I said; and Madame de Thilloy 
nodded and smiled a little. 

“Yes, his dream house with the big clock 
in the hall and the winding stairs as high 
as the Kiffel Tower.” 

“And the man who sang old songs in a 
voice like the organ of the Madeleine.” 

I think the most pitiful thing in Madame 
de Thilloy’s narrative was the memory of 
the love that still came pressing back into 
her heart for this German husband whom 
she had abandoned forever. He had adored 
her, it was clear, and there had been no 
harsh word* between them until that day 
when she implored him not to go back to 
Germany and fight against France. They 
had had a frightful scene. The man had 
wept more than the woman, cursing war, 
protesting to God against the abomination 
that was coming upon the world, and yet 
giving his wife no hope that he would 
desert his country 

‘lam a German,” he said over and ove 
again. ‘“‘I must go back, and, if need be, 
fight for my Fatherland. I am a German! 
I cannot escape from my duty!” 

‘But you may have to kill my brothers!” 
his wife had cried out. 

“Your brothers may kill me,” he had 
answered. “The boyhood of France and 
Germany will die in the same shambles.’ 

They had argued, quarreled and wept 
again. Then Franz von Miirren had to go, 
because an agent de police came to see him 
in the last train to Basel. He had em 
braced the baby, Charles, but his wife, 
Suzanne, had not embraced him in that 
last moment. She had called him the 
enemy of her country, and though he 
struggled to kiss her hands she would not 
let him until she fell into a swoon \ 
tragic scene that was happening in more 
rooms than one in the world that night on 
the outbreak of war! The rest had fol 
lowed—the invasion of Belgium, the 
atrocity stories, the slaughter of Frencl 
youth; and Suzanne, who called herself 
De Thilloy—her maiden name —hated the 
memory of her German husband with the 
shuddering aversion of all Frenchwomen 
or most—for the race that had done such 
evil deeds. She had suffered in the year 
of war. Her two brothers had been killed 
one on the Somme, one at Verdun, that 
greatest of graveyards. 

“You had one comfort,” I said. “You 
had little Charles.” 

I think only a Frenchwoman would 
have revealed another cause of tragedy so 
frankly and with such an intimate know] 
edge of her own psychology as this lady 
did to me. Little Charles had been an 
agony and not a comfort to her. Her very 
love for him was like a poisoned dagger in 
her heart. As he grew older she could see 
the German in him getting stronger, un 
mistakable. Nothing would alter his blue 
eyes and his fair hair; nothing would alte 
a hundred little traits of character, of man 
ner, even of speech, in which she saw —or 
fancied she saw, poor soul—the blood and 
spirit of the German race. He ate his soup 
like a German—I told her that all children 
do. He had a habit of sudden rage He 
laughed like a German, had a passion for 
music —‘‘ Nothing wrong in that!’’ I said 
and was Teutonic in a way that frightened 
her. 

“‘Sometimes,’’ she told me, “I see in him 
a miniature boche, the little incarnation of 
the German race, and it makes my heart 
swoon sg 

“Nerves!"’I said. “ Morbid psychology, 
madame. Charles is French to his finger 
tips, crazy about la gloire de France, and 
the noblest boy for his age I have ever met 
on this side of the Channel.” 

She shook her head miserably. 

“IT should love him better if he had dark 
eyes, like Armand Méricourt.” 

I think those words slipped out before 
she knew she was speaking them, for in 
stantly they left her lips she blushed very 
deeply. When I rose to go she told me 











95 





something else which startled me as mucl 
as her first confession of a German husband 

“Why were you frightened to be left 
alone?” I asked 

She hesitated before she answered, and 
then spoke ina low voice: 

‘IT have told you so much that I may now 
tell you all. That man who was my hus 
band is in Paris. He is one of the secre 
taries of the peace commission It is 
certain that he will try to find me.”’ 

I was silent at this piece of news 

‘You will never go back to him?” I 
asked 

‘I would die rather!"’ she told me, and 
there was a thrill of passion in her voice 
One must have been in France during the 
years of war to understand the mentality 
of this lady. One must have seen the flame 
of hatred in the soul of France for all that 
was German. I think an English wife of a 
German husband would have kept her love 
for him, if she had loved him, in spite of the 
brutalities of wi ar, and would have seen 
the tragedy of the conflict with a wider 
pity for its victims on both sides, with 
loyalty to England and yet with fidelity 
to her man and recognition of his own 
sense of duty and honor. Indeed, I know 
women of England who had to face that 
frightful problem of double allegiance and 
who rose above the limiting ideal of na 
tional hatred. In France, invaded, out 
raged, martyred, it was more difficult 
almost beyond human nature. Yet my 
own view is that the love of two human 
beings should be sacred even in the passion 
of a conflict dividing their peoples to the 
death, if they are truly mated; though I 
admit that “if’’ begs half the question 

During the next few days Madame de 
Thilloy had no need of my company, I 
found, for Armand Méricourt, the Cha 
eur Alpin, spent many hours in her salon, 
with the boy as a third party 

I think the lieutenant was pleading with 
her for a final abandonment of her German 
husband and for a new scheme of life by 
which his own dream would be fulfilled 
So much I guessed from the prattle of 
young Charles, whom | met in the court 
yard, and who told me that his lieutenant 
was very angry with 
would not go and play with him in his 
house at Tour 

‘He thinks it is idiot of maman to stay 
here forever, when his heart is hungry for 
her in that chateau which is empty. That 
is what my lieutenant said, though I do 
jot understand how his heart is hungry at 
ours while his body here and quite we ll 
fed. I think it is poetry he is speaking 

I thought so, too, and I pitied the ‘poet 
heart of the man who had been through hell 
in war and now wanted joy in peace 

Charles spent an afternoon in my rooms 
while his mother and the lieutenant went 
driving in the Bois, and it was after a game 
of dominoes that there was a knock at the 
d or 


“Come with me, 


maman because she 


Charles,”’ I said, ‘ “and 


I will see what the postman brings to day 
But it was not the postman Vhen I 
opened the door, while Charles eld my 
hand, I saw a tall young man outside, whose 
face seemed vaguely known to me—a hand 


ome face, blue-eyed and rather English 


looking He lifted his hat and spoke in 
ilmost perfect French, perfect except for a 
lightly heavy r. He seemed very nervou 
ind agitated 

‘Pardon me-—doe a lads named 
Madame de Thilloy live here?” 

I guessed at once that it wa Franz von 
Miirrer His wife had prepared me for 
that, though not for this coming to my own 


door. Before I could answer him his gaze 
had fallen on the child, and a bright, eager 
look came into his face 

‘Is it possible?"’ he said in a kind of 
whisper. Then he gave a queer ery, and 
said: “Charles! My little son. Oh, m 
dear baby, grown so tall, so big!” 

Before I could speak he had lifted 
boy to his heart and kissed him a dozer 
times greedily, while tears streamed dow 
his face. The boy was frightened. He 
struggled out of the man’s arms and ther 
took cover behind me Franz von Murre 
called to him 

“Charles, my sor 


, do not be afraid! IT ar 


the father who went away from you wher 
the war began. I have come back again 

‘My father } dead,’ iid Charl 
Then omething, I think tirred in the 
child’ memory ome face din reme! 
bered a ina dream and hea ed a queer! 
question: ‘“‘Are you the man wl ng 
with an organ voice?”’ 


(Concluded on Page 98) 










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January 1,192! 














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THE SATURDAY 


(Conctuded from Page 95) 

‘Yes,” said Franz von Miirren. “The 
father who sang you to sleep with old 
lullabies ™ 

It was then that I stepped between the 
father and son. 

“Sir,” I said, “‘this child is in my care 
for a little while, and his mother has not 
given me permission to let him talk with— 
with—visitors.” 

I remember stammering out the words, 
afraid of hurting the man, this man who 
had come back, yet thinking of what 
Madame de Thilloy would say when she 
came home again. 

‘‘He is my son,”’ said the man simply. 
‘His mother is my very dear wife. I have 
long been parted from her by this tragic 
war.” 

“Are you really my father?’’ asked 
Charles. lave you come alive again?” 

“Yes,” said Franz von Miirren, “‘I have 
come back to life.” 

How could I keep this man from his son 
when I could see that his whole soul was 
stirred to joy by the sight of the child? 
What right had I to step in between them? 
None in the world, I thought, and still 
think. 

Yet, knowing the hatred of the boy’s 
mother for this German husband, I was put 
into a very grave predicament, for I owed 
some loyalty to her, having been left with 
her child on trust, as it were. 

At that moment I heard the laughter of 
Armand Méricourt at the bottom of the 
staircase, and guessed that Madame de 
Thilloy was with him. I shrank from the 
really tragic thought that a meeting be- 
tween this husband and wife should happen 
without warning, and with the Chasseur 
\/pin and myself as onlookers. I spoke 
sharply to the boy: 

“Charles, run 
lieutenant I am here 

The boy was startled by my sudden com- 
mand, and ran as I bade him, with a cry of 
** Mon lieutenant!”’ I think he wanted to 
tell his hero this wonderful news of the 
father who had come back, but I did not 
think then of its effect upon that French- 
man. 

I spoke to Franz von Murren: 

“Come inside, sir, I beg of you.’ 

He stepped farther into the passage, and 
I shut the door behind him and led him to 
my room, 

So we stood face to face, and | remember 
now the anguish in the man’s eyes, startled 
by my action of sending the boy away, and 
guessing a little perhaps the near presence 
of his wife. 

‘You are English, are you not?”’ he 
said, speaking in my own tongue. “‘May 
I ask what you have to do with my wife 
and boy a 

‘Iam a mere friend,” lanswered. ‘‘ But 
your wife has told me something of her 
life.”’ 

‘Then you know that I am German?” 
he said. 

“Yes, I know.” 

He was silent for a moment, 
deeply. 

He seemed like a man who sees all his 
life outspread, as men say the drowning do 

“This war,” he said—and I was struck 
by the beauty of his speaking voice and 
remembered his fame as a singer—‘“this 
tragic war has not made it good to be a 
German in France or England. In my case 
it has been the worst of tragedies, for it 
made me the enemy of my wife’s people. 
But all through these years I have lived 
with the hope of finding her love again, of 
seeing her dear beauty, which is my life, 
and devoting all the years I may have to 
her happiness. Do you know my wife well 
enough to tell me whether the man she 


e loved may hope for that? 


downstairs! Tell the 


thinking 


EVENING POST 


The wistfulness of these words, their 
humiliation, touched me poignantly. 

“She has not written to you?” I asked. 

“For five years I have had no word—nor 
any of my friends.” 

“Tt was difficult for you to hear,” I said. 

“Difficult, yes, but not impossible.” 

He waited for me to give him some hope, 
and I cast about in my mind for some 
vague, noncommittal words which might 
give him faint consolation. All my pity 
was for this German now, and the specters 
of the war did not stir my hatred. A 
stricken soul seems to me above all racial 
enmities. I spoke to him again: 

“T don’t know your wife very well; not 
well enough to give you any answer to your 
question. But if you'll wait here I’il go 
and see her and take a message, and bring 
back her reply.” 

He accepted this like a hungry dog to 
whom a bone is thrown. 

“Tell her this,” he said: ‘“‘‘I die without 
you. My love cries out for you. In the 
name of God, who made us man and wife, 
I beg you to see me again.’”’ 

I left him standing there and went 
across the outside passage to the door 
opposite my own. When I knocked it was 
Armand Meéric ourt who opened it. There 
was an unusual pallor beneath the bronze 
of his skin, and his dark eyes were somber. 

‘Has that sacré boche gone?”’ he asked. 

“Not yet. I have a message for his 
wife.” 

He swore a frightful oath, but stood by 
while I passed into the little salon. 

Madame de Thilloy stood close to the 
table, white to the lips, and waited for me 
to speak. Charles held to her frock. He 
looked frightened and was quite silent. 
Some tragic scene had happened before I 
came. 

‘I have a message, madame, from your 
husband,”’ I said. “Have I your permis- 
sion to give it before Lieutenant Méri- 
court and little Charles?’”’ 

She nodded, but did not speak. 

I repeated the words of Franz von 
Miirren exactly as I remembered them 

‘He says, ‘I die without you. My love 
cries out for you. In the name of God, who 
made us man and wife, I beg you to see 
me.’"’ 

Madame de Thilloy, as she was called, 
raised her hands and put them up to her face, 
and I thought she was near swooning. 

It was Armand Méricourt who spoke 
first after my message. 

“Tell this boche,” he said savagely, 
“that his Kaiser broke all contracts made 
by God and man between French and Ger- 
mans. He is no longer the husband of this 
lady.” 

I turned to Madame de 
spoke to her gently: 
“Shall I take 

madame?” 

She tried to speak and failed, and then 
broke into spasms of weeping. Charles 
stroked her hand, but I think she was un- 
conscious of that touch. It was Armand 
Méric ourt who spoke again: 

“There is an easy way and a good an- 
swer. I will go and kill the man, and finish 
what I left undone in the chateau of 
Vermelles.” 

He took his revolver from its case and 
slouched toward the door. I am certain 
that he intended to fulfill his words. 

“Not in my room!” I said, and stood 
between him and the door. 

“You, too,” growled this Chasseur Alpin, 
“if you stand in my way!” 

I'm certain he meant that also, and I 
was very near death that moment. Then 
Madame de Thilloy spoke: 

“IT will go and see this man.” 

She put her hand on my arm, and the 
Chasseur Alpin fell back before her and let 


Thilloy and 
back 


your answer, 

















January 1,192! 


us pass. I think he was cowed by the 
tragedy of her face, so white, so ghostly. 

My little door on the other side of the 
passage was locked by the click of the 
patent catch, and I remember fumbling 
with the key before I could get it open. 

Franz von Miirren stood just inside the 
door of the small room, and the light from 
the gas overhead in the passage fell on his 
face. 

It brought back to my mind the figure 
of Lohengrin as I had seen him on a gala 
night at Covent Garden. He took one step 
forward, with a wonderful look of joy, and 
the on stood still and spoke her name: 

“Suzanne! Ma femme!”’ 

She answered him coldly: 

“What is it you want with me?”’ 

I heard no more than that, for I passed 
quickly by the lady and turned into a little 
hall on the left, and shut the door be- 
tween them and me. 

I think she stayed with him no more 
than ten minutes, though I cannot be sure. 
I heard the murmur of their voices, the 
man’s voice passionate and pleading, the 
woman's cold and hard. Then silence. 
Then the click of the latch and the shutting 
of my front door. 

I went into the passage. 
Franz von Miirren sat at my table with 
his head on his arms, ag ag I left him 
there until some time later I heard his 
footsteps in a stumbling way across the 
passage. He too went out, and my door 
closed again with the click of the patent 
catch, and I was alone with a sense of 
tragedy. 

I have never seen Madame de Thilloy 
since. She left the house in the Rue de la 
Pompe next morning early with her boy 
Charles, and from the concierge I learned 
that they had gone away from Paris. 
wondered whether they had gone to Tours, 
and hoped not. For the sake of the bleed- 
ing heart of Franz von Miirren, German 
as he was, I hoped not, as well as for the 
soul of Suzanne de Thilloy, who once had 
loved him. 

For her I am sure there would be no real 
happiness in a chateau at Tours with that 
husband's love between her and a Chasseur 
Alpin. 

It was Armand Méricourt who told me 
the end of the tale when I met him a few 
days ago at Chartres. 

He held out his hand and said, ‘‘Comment 
ca va, mon vieux?"’ and then invited me to 
an apéritif. 

For some time we spoke of casual things. 
Not a word about the lady who was in 
both our minds. 

Then abruptly he told me what I wanted 
most to know. 

** Madame de Thilloy— you remember? 
went back to her boche husband. They are 
living in Italy. He fell ill in Switzerland 
and she nursed him back to life. I think 
she always loved him, even whe 2n she hated 
him. Women are like that.’ 

I remembered young Charles using that 
phrase. 

““Women are like that,” he said once, 
making me laugh. Perhaps he had learned 
it from his lieutenant. 

Armand Méricourt took another sip of 
his ape ritif. 

‘It’s a pity I didn’ t kill him in the 
chateau at Vermelles,”’ he said in his quiet 
way. 

I was silent, 
votion to Suzanne de Thilloy, 
sorry for him. 

“Or rather,” 


Inside the room 


thinking of this man’s de- 
and feeling 


he said presently, continu- 
ing his thought, “‘it’s a pity, he didn’t kill 
me. I’m finished—anyhow.’ 

We spoke no more on that subject, but 
talked of the war and of the peace. The 
lieutenant of Chasseurs Alpins cursed both 
with very dreadful oaths. 














| 
: 
{ 
7 
} 








Talk about 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 





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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 


























Raver ey Cl uigihr> 1g that ret vole Vos 


IrURE| M6. co. BRISTO oct SOND: 














an 


SE <a re 


every primal instinct in the onlookers. A 
handful of people hissed or yelled “‘Shame!”’ 
Their protests were lost in a whirlwind of 
shouts and handclaps and in the pounding 
of myriad feet. 

Dizzy, “7, shaken, drunk with the fearful 
concussion, Cal Benton came to his senses. 
He found himself lying in a ring-side box, 
while Bud Kelleher thumbed expertly his 
supra-orvital nerve, and the weeping Mil- 
dred held ammonia to his twitching nos- 
trils. For the best part of three minutes he 
had been senseless; long enough for Ira to 
leave the ring and get to the dressing 
rooms, but not long enough for the bedlam 
of shouts to die down 

“T'll—I’ll go see Iry in his dressing 
room,” babbled Cal when he was able to sit 
up. “That was a chance punch. I know 
how rotten he’ll be feeling about it. I'll 
just go say it’s all—all right—and " 

“You'll come home, dearie,”’ contradicted 
Mildred. *‘ You'll come right straight home 
and let me put you to bed. As for seeing 
Iry Mack, aay never see him again if I’ve 
got anything to say about Jit. The brute 
done it a- purpose. He 

Yo, no!”’ denied Cal fervently. “‘Not 
Iry, girl! You a him wrong. Iry 
wouldn't make so small of me. No white 
man would. It w: is a fluke. I must ’a’ run 
into it, or else 

“Come on home!" repeated Mildred 
with great firmness as she signaled to Kelle- 
her to support the tottering man on one 
side while she “4 up his other elbow. 
““Come on home, like I say. 
That’s a good bh . ° Let 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


THE OLD MAN 


Continued from Page 13) 


beating him to the punch. I did not want 
to disappoint the people of Pitvale who 
were looking forward to seeing me box. So 
I did the only other thing left me to do. 


“It says that?” roared Cal, scrambling 
out of bed and snatching the paper. ‘The 
paper says that? Lemme see!” 

Mouthing, shivering, he read and rerés ad 
the brief interview. Mildred at first sought 
to soothe his stark fury by motherly clucks 
and pats. But presently she desisted, for 
Cal’s rage had departed. He stood move- 
less, cold, masklike of visage. For perhaps 
five minutes he stood so—oblivious of 
Mildred’s cooing queries and condolences. 
Then without a word, and ignoring his 
wife’s protests, he began to get into his 
clothes. Yet, once dressed, he did nothing. 
He did not go to his studio. He refused to 
see a reporter and a half score friends who 
called. All day long he sat wordless and 
granite-faced by an upper window. At in- 
tervals he would pull the crushed news- 
paper from his pocket and read slowly the 
interview with Ira Mack. 

With difficulty Mildred got him to come 
downstairs for supper. Scarce had he seated 
himself, dumb and rigid, at the table when 
the door burst open and his son Orville 
came storming into the room. At sight of 
the twelve-year-old, Mildred cried aloud in 
horror. Even Cal came far enough out of 
his stupor to stare open-mouthed. 

The little fellow’s face was a mask of 
blood. A front tooth was gone—a new one 


at that—and his tip-tilted nose looked less 
like a nose than like a prize tomato which 
had been blight smitten. One eye was a 
puffed slit, under which darkness already 
had begun to gather. There was a bump on 
his forehead and another on his chin. His 
collar and tie were gone, his shirt was torn 
and his once-neat jacket was split from 
collar to hip. Such ¢lothes as he still wore 
were uniformly caked with dirt and blood. 
So was his face. His knuckles were raw. 
He was an awesome little sight. 

“Ofall the ” shrilled his mothef, then 
breath failed her. But heedless of her ery 
and of his own weird aspect, Orville marched 
straight up to Cal. Tersely—his words 
impeded by swollen lips—the lad reported. 

“Startin’ home,” he puffed, “‘after the 
ball game. Met Byron Mack. He said 
you'd never saw the day you could last out 
three rounds against Iry. Said you quit the 
ring when you did because you saw Iry was 
a comer an’ that he'd lick you, just like he 
did last night. Said you was yaller. Said 
Iry told him so. Says he’s goin’ to tell all 
the other fellers what Iry said. He won't!” 

The boy stopped long enough to explore 
with a bitten tongue the hollow where once 
his best upper front tooth had blossomed 
Then he went on jerkily as before 

“‘He acted like he had a lot more to say, 
but I didn’t wait to hear it. I had to sail 
into him. Someone had to, and there was 
only me. Likewise I did.” 

“Orrie!"’ gasped Mildred. “Why, that 
great lout of a Byron Mack is more’n two 


101 


years older than you! And he’s a head 
taller and ever so mu h heavier, You don't 
me an to say you 

“Yes'm. That s why I look like ldo. If 
he hadn’t of been that much older an’ bigger 
an’ so much used to scrappin’, he couldn't 
‘a’ messed me up like he did before | wa 
able to get him hollerin’ "nuff! Dad, he lied, 
didn’t he? I told him he did. But I'd like 
fi ne to hear you say so tao.” 

‘Yes, kid,’’ answered Cal, sinking back 
into his dull apathy, albeit with a new 
tenseness of jaw. ‘‘ Yes, kid, he lied. Let it 
go at that. Now go wash yourself up 
And—if Byron Mack or anyone else give 
you the same line of talk again don't you 
get to fighting with ‘em. I-—there’s bette: 
ways better ways.” 

Nor would Cal oper his mouth again on 
the theme of Ira Mack’s trickery. He did 
not so much as mention Ira’s name. He 
did not even vouchsafe a word of commer 
when news came a week later that Mac 
had beaten the light-heavyweight cham 
pion of the East in the twelfth round of a 
slashing fight, and had won for himself Cal 
Benton's long-abandoned title 

But Bud Kelleher could have told the 
world at large that Cal spent something 
like two hours daily for a while in writing 
mysterious letters, some of them with 
checks in them, and in brooding, shut-eyed, 
for long spells, or in scribbling figures and 
words on scraps of paper 

At last Benton went into long executive 
session with Bud Next week the two 

closed the studio indefinitely 
and left Pitval Nor did 








mommer fuss over you and 
put cool things on your poor 
head. Come on! Bed’s the 
place for you!” 

Because he was too sick 
and wabbly to resist, Cal let 
his wife and the roustabout 
guide him out of the arena 
and to a cab. Yet he was 
sorry to go home without a 

vord of reassurance to the 
friend whose blunder had 
knocked him out. 

Next morning, when she 
had given him his breakfast 
in bed and bathed his rioting 
head for the tenth time, 
Mildred drew a newspaper 
from her ample blouse and 

it down beside her husband. 

“T hate like toad pie to 
read you this,” she began. 
“But you’ve got to know it 
sometime, an d it'll kind of 
come easier from someone 
thatloves youlikeIdo. Just 
listen here a minute, dearie.”” 

She ran a plump finger tip 
down one of the paper’s 
columns, mumbling words 
under her breath, until she 
found the place she sought. 

‘Here it is,” said she. ‘“‘I 
can read you the fight story 
by and by. The Chron’cle 
ed’tor treats you fine in it; 
and there’s a nice little piece 
about you, too, where the 
editorials are. But I wanted 
to read you this part of the 
paper now, be fore Bud Kel- 
leher or anyone can come in 
and spill it. It'll come easier 
from me.” 

Clearing her comfortable 
voice, she read slowly and 
impressively: 

‘Before returning to his 
training quarters at Wyckoff 
by the owl train Ira Mack 
said to a Chronicle reporter 
at the Union Station: ‘I 
hated to do it, for I used to 
be very fond of him. I en- 
tered on this bout to-night 
with the clear understanding 
it was to be a friendly exhi- 
bition go. Then just before 
I stepped into the ring ] 
learned on authority I could 
not doubt that Benton had 
been betting heavily at long 
odds that he would knock 
me out in the third round, 
There were only just two 
things I could do. I could 











their native town hear of 
them for many a long day 
Meanwhile Ira Mack wa 
basking and wallowing and 
reveling in the chaste bli 
which awaits a new-made 
champion. He filled a six 
week small-time vaudeville 
engagement, pulled down a 
tidy package of cash by 
working in a motion-picture 


company’s tunt serial, 








patronized in lor tly fashion 
Don Fancher, his patient 
manager, and for the first 
time in his impecunious life 
spent money as he would 
All this, and the worship of 
fight hangers-on, was golder 
reward for the hungry years, 
and Ira’ ample-size soul 
expanded under 

The best part of the whole 
thing was that he had barel 
begun. Richer and richer 
day tretched out before 
him. There were ju set 
up fights to loaf through, 
with a bag of Nn at the 
end of each, Later there 
would be the light-hea 
weight champior of the 
world to challenge in 
athlete whose partiality t 
trong drink and to weak 
women had ripened him for 
the first rugged contender 


he could be baited int 


ny After that 





But the set-up fights were 
first in order The ould 
not begin too mm f the 
torrential flo f po 
money were to continue a 
lushly as of late And Ira 
bade Don Fancher get bu 

Fancher sought the be 
location for ich a battle, 


even before he looked for 
opponent 

Pitvale was a fight tov 
It was Mack's home tow: 
It proclaimed himi its fave 
ite son, or at least enoug! 
Pitvale to insure fat gate re 
ceipt Pitvale, moreo 
possessed i puendia 
auditorium and a suj 
placent mayor i 
chief. Pitvale, ther 
choser 
set up 

Next on ng th yr] 
sort f 
man Far 
him of Cor 











refuse to go on, or I could 
save my reputation by 


He Bowed Gractoustly to 


the Plaudit:Throbbing Crowd, Smiled Tenderly at the Screened 


Gallery Box 


heavyweilg champ) 
(Concluded on Page 105 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1,192! 


Pennsylvania 


ACUUM CUP 


CORD TIRES 


Substantial price reductions became effective on Vacuum Cup Tires on 
November 10, 1920. 

Notwithstanding this, we propose to give thoughtful motorists additional 
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the fact that 


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For the month of January, Vacuum Cup dealers throughout the United 
States are authorized to give—absolutely free of charge 

One Pennsylvania ‘‘ Ton Tested’’ Tube of 
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Start the New Year right. Equip your car with four Vacuum Cup Tires. 
Know that definite immunity from skidding on wet, slippery pave- 
ments which thousands of other prudent Vacuum Cup Tire users enjoy 
the year round. 

If you cannot secure prompt service locally, write to the Factory at Jeannette, 
Pa., Department E, and your order will be filled, carrying charges pre- 
paid anywhere in the United States. 


PENNSYLVANIA RUBBER COMPANY ef AMERICA, Jeannette, Pa. 
Direct Factory Branches and Service Agencies Throughout the United States and Canada 
Export Department, Woolworth Building, New York City 


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You pay for the QUALITY — 









THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


On August 25, 1920, at San Francisco, Vacuum Cup Tires withstood 

the test of rounding a wet, slippery corner at thirty-five miles an hour 

in the Safety First demonstration—the feature event of the third annual 
i convention of the National Traffic Officers’ Association. 





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the SAFETY costs you nothing! 

















THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


























For 
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Floors 


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(Concluded from Page 101) 

whom Mack had so recently dethroned. 
Fitzroy was in a financial slough, owing to 
heavy bets he had staked on himself against 
Ira and to the monetary collapse which 
follows hard upon the loss of a champion- 
ship. Like Mack, though for more urgent 
reason, Fitzroy yearned for ready cash. 

An hour’s chat between himself and 
Fancher ended in a thoroughly amicable 
arrangement, whereby in return for twelve 
rounds of hippodrome fighting and a sensa- 
tional knock-out the late champion was to 
be enriched to the sum of fifteen hundred 
dollars. After their former go, Fitzroy had 
no delusions of grandeur as to his ability to 
defeat the redoubtable Mack. So he was 
quite willing to play fair and to earn his 
fifteen hundred dollars and take his re- 
hearsed knock-out strictly along the lines 
dictated by Fancher. 

Next, Fitzroy shrieked loudly in every 
sporting page within reach that he had been 
doped before his championship bout with 
Ira, and that in decent condition he could 
thrash Mack to a standstill. Wherefore he 
clamored for a return match. 

Mack, with true mar ieey wa pa answered 
this broadside by saying he did not want to 
owe his championship to a fluke. If Fitzroy 
really had been doped or otherwise disabled 
before their other fight he was willing to 
give him a return match, and to stake his 
title on his ability to thrash the man a sec- 
ond time. 

Bothstatements were writtenby Fancher, 
and they made a distinct impression on the 
fight-going public. Artieles were signed, 
a date was fixed for the bout, Pitvale was 
chosen as the location, and both gladiators 
went into brief but widely press-agented 
training. Added heart interest was given 
to the affair by an announcement that Ira 
had stipulated that The Girl—heavily 
chaperoned by his own father and mother 
and his kid brother Byron—should witness 
the contest from a screened gallery box. 

Mack even waived the championship 
prerogative of making his antagonist go 
into the ring first on the night of the battle. 
Having absolutely no fear of the outcome, 
and being in no need of scaring or impress- 
ing Fitzroy by a long wait, he entered the 
thronged auditorium ten minutes before the 
hour scheduled for the event, and strolled 
with languid grace down the main aisle from 
dressing room to ring 

The air shook and heaved with applause. 
It was to taste this adulation and to bask 
longer in the ring with all eyes admiringly 
fixed on him that Ira had preceded the 
gallant Fitzroy into the arena. He bowed 
graciously to the plaudit-throbbing crowd, 
smiled tenderly at the screened gallery box 
and draped himself upon his stool in a corner 
of the ring. 

There he sat while the applause flickered 
out and while the spectators wearied of 
staring at the bath-robed figure and began 
to glance toward the dressing-room door in 
anticipation of the other warrior. Noting 
which, Ira shifted in his seat and whispered 
to Fancher, “What's keepin’ Fitz? Send 
someone to hustle him along.” 

Obediently Fancher dispatched a handler 
to the dressing room where fifteen minutes 
earlier he had seen Fitzroy disrobing for the 
bout. The room was empty. Fitzroy and 
his two seconds had departed. Behind 
them they had left a note in Fitzroy’s 
sprawly handwriting to the effect that the 
fighter had been assailed by sudden and 
horrible cramps in the midst of undressing. 
He was subject to these cramps. They 
lasted for at least a day before wearing 
themselves out. He was in no condition to 
fight, or even to stand upright. Hence his 
apologies—also his Supseenes, 

By the time Fancher and the furious 
Mack had fairly read and mastered the 
hideous contents of the note the crowd had 
begun to whistle. Then it began to clap, 
then to groan and to cateall. The Pitvale 
Auditorium manager trotted over to the 
ring and held a swift and tragic conference 
with Fancher and Mack. At the conclu- 
sion of the council—and spurred by the 
ever-increasing racket of the spectators 
the Pitvale manager walked to the center 
of the ring and waved both short arms for 
silence. He got it. 

“The management begs to regret,’’ he 
megaphoned, “that Con Fitzroy has been 
took with a bad sickness, and the doctor 
says positively that it’d be his death to set 
foot into the ring. The management,” he 

went on more loudly, to be heard above a 
babel of disapprobation from the specta- 
tors—‘‘the management begs to apologize. 
And the management begs to announce 








THE SATURDAY 


that the champion stands ready to take on 
any p’fessional of his weight who may 
happen to be here to-night. The man- 
agement ——— 

The buzzing of the crowd drowned his 
voice. No less than four men jumped to 
their feet and made for the ring, brandishing 
their arms to attract the manager's atten- 
tion. These men were what ring habitués 
know as waiters—pugilists who make a 
practice of attending fights in the hope that 
one of the combatants may fail to appear 
and that a volunteer chopping block may 
be called for. There is enough money in 
this waiter game to make it worth many a 
third-rater’s while. 

First of the quartet to reach the ring was 

a fellow who had started to mill his way 
forward before the manager had begun to 
speak. 
At sight of him someone clapped. Some- 
one else cheered. The cheer was taken 
up as hundreds of Pitvalians recognized 
Cal Benton. 

Into the ring clambered Cal, a full 
twenty feet ahead of his nearest rival. 

“First come, first served !"’ he sang out as 
he and Bud Kelleher found their footing 
side by side on the canvas floor. ‘ Hello, 
Iry! Care ‘bout taking me on, for a subs’- 
toot? Hey?’ 

For an instant Mack’s face went blank 
with astonishment. Then his quick brain 
began to work. He himself was in the pink 
of condition, for set-up fights were still too 
much of a novelty to him to permit of any 
chance-taking. He was more than twelve 
ane younger than Benton, and the latter's 
eisurely studio life had not kept him from 
a slight softness or from a tendency toward 
meridional fat. 

There could be no doubt as to the out- 
come of such a fight. Youth, as ever, must 
be served. The aging back number, in bare 
semitraining, against the fiery young fight- 
ing machine, would serve better for set-up 
yurposes than the cramp-ridden Fitzroy; 
yesides being a local hero who had once 
received louder and warmer applause than 
had Mack. 

“You're on!’ decreed Ira; while Fancher 
and the Pitvale manager all but embraced 
the life-saving Cal, and the crowd cheered 
its fool head off. 

Into the ring less than ten minutes later 
ee Cal Benton, swathed in his rusty 
yath robe. The professionally faithful Bud 
Kelleher at his heels was his only attend- 
ant—laden with bottles, pail and towels. 

Cal sat low in his corner. He still wore 
his bath robe when he and Mack came 
to the ring center for their instructions 
from the referee. Only when the bell rang 
for the first round did Benton cast off the 
shapeless garment. At the same time he 
cast off the shyly deprecating manner he 
had worn with it. 

A ripple of applause from the initiated 
paid tribute to the man’s physical perfec- 
tion. Gone was the hint of waistline fat. 
Gone were the soft curves of the past two 
years. Cal was granite hard; as rugged as 
a New Hampshire hillside; as lithe as a cat. 

‘Took me the best part of three months 
to get down to this!’ he said pleasantly as 
he and the amazed Mack came together in 
mid ring. ‘‘ Takes longer when you're past 
thirty, but I got there at last. Bud and 
I did it. And I’m here!" 

As he talked he danced back from a left 
lead, countered a heart punch, danced away 
again, then flashed a flicking left to Ira’s 
jaw. The blow stung rather than hurt, yet 
the house cheered. 

Still relying almost wholly on footwork, 
boxing at long range, keeping away except 
when a rare opening let him in at face or 
body, Cal Benton continued to talk. He 
spoke in broken sentences, and never to the 
sacrifice of his boxing or of the long-range 











EVENING POST 


caution he had adopted. As he spoke his 
face went iron-rigid. His voice took on a 
queer my not unlike that of a_ bone- 
gnawing dog that sees another dog sidle 
toward him. 

“Try,” he said, “I won't tell you what a 
swine you are. It'd be a waste of breath. 
And if you don’t know it, I couldn’t learn 
it to you. But being a swine ain't on the 
free list, Iry—like you're due to find out 
That’s why I’m here. Con Fitzroy’s got 
eighteen hundred dollars of my money. 
That’s why he ain't here, Iry. Think it 
over. It’s cost me a sight of cash, soon 
and late, to corner you to-night. But it 
was worth a whole passel more—a whole 
passel more. And I'll get it all back, right 
in this ring! I'm here to get you, too, Iry! 


The ending of the round cut short his 
three-words-at-a-time oration. It had been 
a fast round, with practically not one tell- 
ing blow scored on either side. As an exhi- 
bition of skill and of speed it was a treat. 
But the crowd had come to see blood flow 
and men slugged to the floor, and the ap- 
plause was scant. 

Ira Mack went to his corner feeling queer 
in the head. For the first time in his ring 
career he was worried. The Grand Old 
Man, to all appearances, was again at his 
best. And there was cold, wary hatred in 
his face and voice. At his best, Cal Benton 
had been well-nigh invincible. If he were 
really so now 

Deaf to Fancher'’s prattlings, Mack sat 
blinking across the ring at his foe. In his 
stout heart a queer feeling was astir. He 
was not afraid. The champion had no yellow 
in his cosmos. But there was something in 
this sudden apparition of a rejuvenated 
Benton that jiggled Mack's taut nerves. 

He knew—none better—the Grand Old 
Man’s one-time prowess. He knew, too, 
that there was deathless hate and cold 
bloodthirst in Cal’s broodingly puckered 
eyes. He had heard somewhere a wheeze 
about bewaring the anger of a patient man 
Never before had he seen Benton angry 
Never, even in the ring, had he seen the old 
chap’s placidly friendly face transfigured 
to flinty grimness. And despite himself Ira 
began to fidget. 

As the men came up for the next round 
Mack made a bull rush bred of nerve rack. 
Benton stood his ground, first blocking 
neatly and then running into a clinch. In 
this clinch he held on and clung close until! 
the referee with some trouble pried the 
fighters apart. And throughout the long 
clinch Cal was whispering rapid-fire speech 
into Ira’s ear—to this purpose: 

“| learned you all you know. That ain't 
saying I learned you all I know, Iry. 
There’s one trick I never taught you or 
anyone, because it’s a killer, I never used 
that punch since | killed poor Spike Mee- 
han with it back twelve years ago. It was 
a murder punch, and I was afraid of it, not 
being a killer, or even a cur. But this past 
few months I've practiced it up a lot. In 
the fifth round you'll get it, Iry. In the 
fifth! This is your last fight, son—your 
last fight! In the fifth, remember! I 
excuse me, Mister Ref’ree! I couldn't 
wrench free of him any sooner. He was 
hugging. Caution him—not me.” 

And the fight was on once more. 

Having no further need for words, Cal 
forbore to dance away from his enemy; and 
all future clinches were of Mack's seeking. 
With little use of footwork Benton stuck to 
the aggressive. Wasting no dynamic power 
in mere spectacular antics, he tore away at 
his man. 

Even the most skeptical of the onlookers 
could see Benton had actually come back. 
Whether at his age he could maintain such 
speed and force for ten rounds or more was 
another matter. Fondling this one hope, 











105 


Don Fancher, between rounds, exhorted 
the bothered Ira to keep away from Cal and 
to box until prolonged exertion should prove 
the superiority of youth. It would be 
time, Fancher urged, to begin the actual 
slaughter in the eighth or ninth round, when 
Cal's bolt should be shot and when age 
should have be ‘gun to claim its pay, 

To his manager's preachment Ira gave 
little heed. In his brain were singing the 
droned words 

‘This is your last fight! In the fifth, 
remember!" 

Mack could still hear the odd grate of 
solemnity in the threat, and he could not 
make himself think of it as a bluff. For all 
his squareness, Cal Benton had been the 
craftiest man in his division, and it was 
more than just possible that he had evolved 
some such man-killing punch as he said; 
a deadly and invincible smash, perhaps, 
such as George Lablanche’s historic pivot 
had been before mercy tabooed it from the 
(Jueensberry ring 

For the life of him Ira could not put the 
solemnly muttered warning from his mind, 
and he knew that Cal had enough insight 
into his mental processes from long associa- 
tion to be aware of this. Yes, Cal must 
be knowing he had worried his ex-pupil. Ira 
was certain of that, and it added hopeless 
wrath to his worry 

If by any lucky chance he could knock 
Benton out before that rotten fifth round 
Cal would keep his word. That was Cal's 
way. He had said the fifth round, and in 
the fifth round it would be. Not sooner. 
Meanwhile 

Disregarding Fancher's increasingly fran- 
tic appeals for caution, lra flung himself 
furiously into the fray, hammering, slug- 
ging, taking blows unnecessarily, that he 
might chance a knock-out counter. And 
thus through the third and fourth rounds 
the battle slashed on at top speed, full of 
heavy hitting and of grievous punishment 
on both sides. The pace could not last 
long. The fans screeched themselves hoarse 

The bell rang for the fifth round. Up 
came the fighters, with exaggerated snappi- 
ness. Ira’s tanned face showed a trifle 
pale under its tan and its bruises. Cal was 
smiling slightly. It was not a pretty smile 

As they met in the center Benton said 
quite loudly, but with no bluster at all, 
“In the first minute of this round, Iry!"’ 

As he spoke his glance strayed as by 
instinct from Mack's eyes to his stomach 
Ira’s reply to the threat was a feint for the 
jaw, followed by an immediate retreat 
Nor thereafter could he be induced to stand 
his ground He backed away nimbly 
warily, forcing Cal to follow him step by 
step, and always on the go. Plainly he was 
seeking to ride out the round. Fancher 
grunted approbation. Several spectators 
Lissed 

Patiently, with no show of haste or ex 
citement, Cal followed his fast-moving 
opponent, and as he went his glance kept 
shifting, as if instinctively, to Mack's wind 
Whenever this happened Cal would at once 
change the direction of his gaze, apparently 
seeking to keep Mack oom observing tne 
covert looks cast at his belt line 

Then in a trice the patient pursuit turned 
into a tiger dash. Forward whizzed Cal, 
driving Mack by sheer strength back into 
a corner too quickly and ferociously to 
permit of side-stepping. As Mack’s hip 
touched the rope Cal made an awkward 
left lead for the face, his unmanayeable 
eyes flashing toward the stomach in a 
lightning appraisal of distance, and _ his 
mighty right jerked convulsively bact 
ward. Mechanically Ira pulled his own 
head aside from the slow left and with both 
hands guarded his wind, for there was red 
murder in the old warrior’s glare, and the 
first minute of the round was near an end 


Mack wakened from deep and dreamless 
slumber. He woke on the table in his dress 
ing room. Boredly Fancher and a handler 
were sluicing water over his battered head 
The head itself was one egregious and 
re nding ache. 

‘hat--what was the--the fancy new 
punch he— he got me with?” bleated Mack, 
the fragments of his brain harking back to 
Cal's warning 

“Fancy new punch, nothin’! norted 
the manager unlovingly ‘He got you 
with one of the oldest of the lot--an easy 
right hook to the jaw—while you was 
a-rockin’ your stomach to sleep with both 
hands. Say, where the blue blazes was you 
durin’ that fight anyhow? You sure made 
one swell showin’ for your home-town 


folks 











THE SATURDAY EVENING POST January 1, 1921 


A great step forward 
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| a nai ~ idee, on other sizes in proportion h 
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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


0 
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—junior in size 














108 THE SATURDAY 






















2.2% eatin int wee at 
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clling at Oklahoma City, Okla., with 
of surfaced with Sta-so laminated slate 
‘ 4. Niche Inc., Builder 


~and in 194] 

























it will still defy the Sun 


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They have sent the sun with its intense bleaching | 


rays to fade Sta-so’s naturally indelible colors of | 
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hey have called on Father Time, whose gradual 
destruction fades most every type of roofing. But 
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Add to Sta-so’s indelible color beauty its fire- 
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rolls and on the bundles of shingles of the slate- 
surfaced roofing you buy. 


\malgamated Roofing Co., Chicago, Il National Asbestos Mfg. Co 
Barber Asphalt Paving Co., Phila., Pa Jersey City, N. J 
Barrett Co Ne York, N.Y B. F. Nelson Mig. Co 

Beckman-Daweon Rig.Co.,C hicago, Il) Minneapolis, Minn 
Bird & Son, Ltd., Hamilton, Ont., Can Pioneer Paper Co. Los Angeles, Cal 


Bird & Son, Inc., Fast Walpole, Mass Reynolds Shingle Co 
Philip Carey Mfg. Co., Cincinnati, Ohio Grand Rapids, Mich 
Flintkote Co Boston, Mass Richardson Co . Cincinnati, Ohio 


Boston, Mase 
St. Paul, Minn 


Safepack Mills 
Si Fo Products Co 


Ford Rfg. Products Co., St. Louis, Mo 
The Heppes Rig. Division 


The Richardson Co Chicago, I Standard Paint Co., New York, N. Y 
Keystone Roofing Mig. Co., Vork, Pa Usona Mfg. Co Aurora, Tl. 
McHenry Millhouse Mfg. Co H. F. Watson Co Erie, Pa 

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National Rfg. Co., Tonawanda, N. \ Wilberite Rig. Co Cleveland, Ohio 





Toon / CID” 
ADING'S UATE: 


ROOF SURFACE 


EVENING POST 


January 1,192! 


SHE DRIFTED TO THE CITY 


(Continued from Page i1) 


to deal with trouble. Three months later 
she was chief operator, and then a difficult 
PBX problem arose in a new Southern war 
industry community—the private branch 
exchange of the corporation that had built 
and was operating a big plant for the Govern- 
ment. Stella straightened that out, too, and 
stuck to it until the armistice. All together 
the original telephone job sanctioned by her 
father because it was only five minutes’ walk 
from the house landed her in half a dozen 
states during the war and left her a thou- 
sand miles from home. 

Katie O’Brien would probably have gone 
into the telephone service, too, after finish- 
ing school—she was three years younger 
than Stella and had a yeaf’s study ahead 
when we entered the war. Pat O’Brien 
himself got Katie a job in a gas-mask fac- 
tory when the 1917 spring term ended, and 
there was no thought of going back to 
school when vacation was over. Katie soon 
developed ability in managing girls. There 
was a rather rough element in that plant- 
some foreigners, others who had not en- 
joyed much schooling, with still another 
element attracted from domestic service by 
the wages. There were also skylark recruits 
from comfortable and even wealthy Amer- 
ican families, anxious to help win the war, 
but green, heedless and lacking the sense 
of responsibility. Katie's whole soul was 
in the war, and every operation on a gas 
mask connected with its ultimate service. 
School athletics had given her a knack in 
leadership. A thoroughgoing little human 
being, she made no distinctions in dealing 
with people. For the ignorant and poverty- 
hampered she had sympathy, and for the 


| skylarkers a real wallop inherited from her 


father—a wallop in a kid glove, perhaps, 
but landed just as quick and straight where 
it was needed. 

War broadened women’s work in fac- 
tories. Many of the skilled mechanics were 
drawn into military service, and women 
were given new tasks. Where they had 
been employed before chiefly for routine, 
such as the tending of machines, testing 


| parts, inspecting and measuring materials, 
| now they learned to adjust and repair ma- 


chinery, teach operations to others, super- 
vise as forewomen, and even design 
products and master technic. War also 
gave thousands of girls and women from 
comfortable homes a taste of business life. 
Not all the women volunteers could be em- 
ployed on committees or as canvassers or 
speakers. Such activities necessitated the 
keeping of records, correspondence, clerical 
detail. Thousands of home girls without 
business experience tackled such jobs, often 
taking courses in typewriting, stenography, 
accounting and general office work. The 
experience frequently revealed latent abil- 
ity in business and a liking for it, so that 
when the emergency was over they went 
into the business world to earn money, 
keep busy and live a fuller life. 


Selling Employment 


Employers learned new things about 
women workers during the war. Recruiting 
was carried into fresh fields. Instead of 
waiting at the employment office for girls 
who applied for jobs, the home and high 
school were canvassed, personally and 
through advertising. Employment became 
a selling proposition. Factory and office 
conditions were made attractive to nice 
girls, and recruits were more closely fitted 
with work adapted to physique, ability 
and temperament. The high-school gradu- 
ate or college student might excel in light 
tasks requiring speed and accuracy, 
cause she was quick and ambitious. On 
the other hand, the sturdy girl recruited 
from domestic service had the strength and 
stolid patience to run a heavy machine on 
repetitive work. 

A knitting mill in the Middle West made 
good a serious shortage of girl operatives by 


| reversing the drift to the city. Situated ina 
| country town of a few thousand people, 


very few of its operators came from near-by 
farms. These were chiefly country girls from 
large families, attracted wholly by wages, 
and living at home, going back and forth 
from work every day. A few more opera- 
tors came from near-by towns. So it was 
necessary to draw upon the feminine labor 
supply of the nearest cities—Chicago, St. 
Louis, Minneapolis, St. Paul. Small classi- 
fied advertisements in the Help-Wanted 
columns of city newspapers attracted chiefly 


floaters—girls who drifted from job to job, 
attracted by the prospect of an immediate 
increase in earnings, regardless of larger 
ultimate wages through increase in skill. 

This company built a residence hall for 
girl employees on the lines of a college 
sorority house, provided meals at cost, and 
a big social hall, and then advertised 
“More than a Living”’ in the big city news- 
papers. The hall was described in pictures 
in display advertisements. Girls were told 
about working conditions in the factory, 
which is thoroughly modern, and how they 
might themselves select congenial tasks. 
The dormitory is governed by the girls 
who live in it, but with the supervision of 
the company’s employment manager, a 
woman, to whom applicants were invited 
to write. This policy not only brought 
applications from a fine class of girl work- 
ers, eliminating the drifters, but soon gave 
the company a waiting list from which to 
fill vacancies. 


Broadened Opportunities 


An Eastern silk mill, finding the supply 
of typical mill help dwindling, took pains 
to explain modern mill work to high- 
school graduates who might prefer to earn 
good wages immediately rather than go 
through normal school and become teach- 
ers. Factory work stands only a peg higher 
than domestic service in the estimation of 
many girls who would consider an office 
or mercantile job congenial. Factory work 
brings up a picture of grinding machinery, 
noise, foreigners, the seven-o’clock whistle 
and the loss of individuality in a system. 
But factories nowadays make countless 
products that are interesting, dainty, femi- 
nine. Individuality is essential both in the 
product and the promotion that keeps the 
organization alive. Wages of factory girls 
begin to compare very well with those of 
skilled mechanics a generation ago. Mod- 
ern factory plants include restaurants, 
lunch rooms, libraries, dormitories, tech- 
nical training, social gatherings. 

Even the grade-school girls of fifteen and 
sixteen were recruited during the war by 
Eastern factories and given vacation jobs 
suited to their years—measuring, testing 
and inspecting products and parts. The 
factories needed them to piece out labor 
supply during the peak of war production. 
Opportunities of earning money while help- 
ing war production were welcomed. Ar- 
rangements were often made whereby 
schooling and factory work dovetailed into 
each other. 

There were other factors brought by war, 
such as the cutting off of immigration, 
which made it necessary to make work 
more congenial and profitable to American 
girls. But the upshot of the whole situation 
was that feminine opportunities in industry 
broadened greatly, along with feminine 
trend to industrial centers. Whether they 
go to the cities or seek employment in the 
nearest town, nine girls out of ten nowadays 
regard work for the three, four or five years 
between school and marriage as the normal 
scheme of life; so it comes down principally 
to what kind of work, and where, and the 
opportunities to earn money, acquire knowl- 
edge and skill likely to be useful in an 
emergency, and add a little excitement to 
existence. 

As a boy’s love of excitement is sup- 
posed to bring him to the city, so love of 
fine clothes and spending money and 
excitement are assumed to a the chief at- 
tractions for girls. But while girls com- 
monly work for a short period, where the 
boy must shape up a life career, their 
motives are seldom flutter-brained. Work 
is frequently the readiest escape from a 
dull, limited life at home. It offers inde- 
pendence, a solid interest and purpose in 
life, a chance to grow and a sense of 
worth—and many girls value these more 
than excitement and nice clothes. As with 
the boys, so the girl who has gone to work 
in a near-by factory or found employment 
in a city office or store writes back to her 
school chums, drawing them to town on the 
same endless-chain principle. 

The business world never seems to get 
enough girl workers. It can take them the 
moment they are legally employable, or 
use part of their time while schooling is 
continued. Hundreds of light tasks calling 
for little skill or training are found in fac- 
tories, and many more in offices. 

(Continued on Page 110) 
















THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 








am a ~ 
“4 





» 4 | EALTH depends quite as much on conservation as ON  appress save tH 


7 SURFACE CAMPAIGN 
be ter 


production. Jimely use of Paint and Varnish in 1921 





will prevent enormous waste of property due to deterioration. 

To postpone painting is false economy. Jt costs more not to ii wo 
sf paint than to paint. Save the surface and you save all. Every tect’ 
time you save a surface you help reduce the cost of living. “tn 














THE SATURDAY 






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| date, 


| chinery; 
handed out in machine-made checks—and 


EVENING POST 


(Continued from Page 108) 

The demand for typists is an excellent 
illustration. Many an ambitious girl 
studies stenography before seeking a posi- 
tion, as the best preparation for a business 
career. Proficiency can hardly be acquired 
under six months; but with two weeks’ 
steady practice in typewriter operation 
alone the same girl could qualify as a typist 
and land a job. It would pay only about 
half the wages of a capable stenographer, 
but for every stenographer employed to- 
day there are at least five typists—girls 


| proficient in copying, writing combination 


form letters, entering, billing and like work. 

Chicago hires typists by dozens and 
hundreds, because it does most of the paper 
work for half the West. A great mail-order 
house receives hundreds of thousands of 
orders and letters daily from customers 
who are served by a girl behind a type- 
writer instead of a counter. Every step in 
filling an order or supplying information is 
reduced to rigid routine, and hundreds of 
girls are employed for the copying, enter- 
ing, accounting, checking, addressing, and 
so forth. Good crops, harvest money, or 


| even an early spring that makes the little 
red hen begin laying two weeks ahead of 
| time, 


will fill the mail-order store with in- 
visible customers, creating a demand for 
several hundred additional typists. Even 

in dull times, when stenographers may have 
to seek work, typists are pretty certain to 
be needed. So while stenography gives 
girls its special advantages for advance- 
ment, plain typing is good equipment for 
the beginner. She can be earning money 
within a month, and support herself while 


| learning stenography. 


Ingenious Office Machines 


Even simpler jobs have been created the 
by the increase in office 
address, 
make out bills and checks, punch holes in 
cards for statistical and accounting pur- 
poses. Bill Smith, telephone lineman, goes 
out into the field and does a repair Job, 
turning in his report. A girl puts a card in 
a punching machine, and by jabbing eight 
or ten keys records everything Bill Smith 
did on that job. One hole represents his 
badge number, another the district in which 
he worked, another the time he spent, and 
others the kinds and quantities of material 


| used, the kind and condition of damaged 


material replaced, the cost of the job, the 
account to which it is to be charged, the 
Another girl takes these cards and 
puts them through sorting machines, and 
still another files them. In the files they 
repose until certain routine information is 
compiled to show the month’s activities. 
Then other girls take the cards out and run 
them through tabulating machines, which 
give information in dozens of ingenious 
combinations. 

Tabulated one way, the total repair 
work for the month appears in figures; and 
in other ways the month’s repair work in 
each district, the cost, amount of material 
used, amount of material scrapped or any- 
thing you please. The system will report 
upon Bill Smith for any week or month in 


| the year, or furnish a complete inventory 


of that plant any time it is needed. 

The quantity production of automobiles 
is wonderful, but not a bit more wonderful 
than the quantity production of informa- 
tion by which business now does its office 
work and supervision. The bank clears its 


| checks and balances individual depositors’ 


accounts by machinery; the trolley com- 
pany tabulates its fares and counts its 
nickels by machinery; the newspaper and 
magazine keep track of subscribers by ma- 
the pay roll is made up and wages 


the human equation is ninety per cent 
feminine. 

Were it necessary to do such work by 
hand and brain, instead of key and carbon, 
there would be no two-dollar magazines or 
dollar gas or ten-cent kilowatts or five-cent 
telephone calls. A rigidly limited amount 
of accounting, tabulating and billing would 
have to be done by trained men, intent 
chiefly upon preventing errors; whereas 
with machinery and the minimum of train- 
ing and special tasks, Jennie and Lizzie, 


| just out of school, run machines, and the 


machines check and cross-check Lizzie 
against Jennie. 

The demand is ever for girls, girls, 
girls—schoolgirls, farm girls, home girls; 
girls of fourteen, sixteen, twenty; serious 
girls, giddy girls, ambitious girls; plain, 
pretty, plodders, clock watchers. With new 


January 1,192! 


devices constantly increasin ng the quantity 
output of routine work and information, 
and the average working career limited to 
a few years, it sometimes seems to the office 
manager as though there were not enough 
girls in the world. 

War opened up many new office jobs for 
women. Until bank employees were drafted 
it was exceptional to see women in tellers’ 
cages checking deposits on adding ma- 
chines, counting cash, verifying balances 
and doing other bank chores. But the girls 
were tried and trained and made good —and 
in many cases stayed. To-day it is the 
bank without them that is exceptional. 
Girls were enlisted for clerical work in gov- 
ernment service, not merely in Washington 
by the thousands, but in war organizations 
all over the country, dealing with food, 
fuel, munitions, shipbuilding. Scarcity of 
experienced clerical workers led many a 
home girl to take a government job, and in 
most cases to keep on working afterward. 
In Washington, when one organization 
such as the Food Administration reduced 
its forces, new places were available in the 
Census Bureau, Internal Revenue De- 
partment, the War Risk Insurance organi- 
zation, and other places where Uncle Sam 
was hiring instead of firing; or they sought 
jobs where their experience could be ap- 
plied in the business world. 

War also made more factory jobs, and 
better. There had always been a psycho- 
logical dead line beyond which women were 
seldom allowed to go in most industries. 
Sometimes a given class of work seemed 
too complicated for the feminine tempera- 
ment; too heavy, exacting, dangerous. 
Occasionally a superintendent or foreman 
admitted that girls could master such work 
with proper training, but doubted whether 
it would pay to teach them in view of the 
short period spent by the average girl in 
industry. In far more cases girls were not 
thought about at all in connection with 
tasks beyond the dead line. But the gen- 
eral scarcity of workers forced cutting and 
trying along new lines, with the outcome 
that girls made good nine times in ten, and 
to-day are holding their own in many new 
factory occupations. 

Women’s jobs in department stores and 
retail business generally are nothing partic- 
ularly new. Yet a good deal of misunder- 
standing concerning them still exists, both 
as to the nature of the work and the oppor- 
tunities for advancement. Shop girls are 
popularly supposed to be giddy, poorly 
paid, under constant temptation, at the 
beck and call of finicky customers, with 
little skill or technical knowledge and few 
chances to rise as business women. In- 
vestigation of a good department-store 
organization would dispel such notions. 


Department:Store Work 


One of the most representative stores in 
the country is a Chicago establishment. Its 
sales force is largely recruited from the 
nice home girls, who on leaving school apply 
for positions with the consent of their par- 
ents, because dad does business with that 
concern and knows its people and stand- 
ards. One of the first persons the new girl 
recruit gets acquainted with is the store 
chaperon, officially its welfare manager, a 
middle-aged woman, herself the mother of 
girls, with a consulting room, a secretary, 
and wide experience of a store’s girl workers 
and their work in different departments, 
backed by detailed records. Acquaintance 
probably begins with a personal chat and 
suggestions about clothing, diet, health and 
opportunities. Then the new girl goes to 
work, learning to sell goods, keep stock in 
order, wrap purchases, handle cash or 
records. Whatever her work, there are 
ways of scoring her efficiency, initiative, 
accuracy, energy. Through report sheets 
the welfare manager can see how that girl 
is getting on, noting progress and short- 
comings. Progress may materialize in the 
shape of a good sales record or a high per- 
centage of accuracy in some other field. 

The shopper in a department store sees 
chiefly its sales people, and has practically 
no contact with the much larger body of 
employees who are out of sight, in the 
buying, receiving, accounting, checking, 
cash, wrapping, packing, delivery and ship- 
ping organization. Shortcomings may show 
up in tardiness, carelessness, an unsatisfac- 
tory sales record. In either case the welfare 
manager invites the girl to her office for a 
talk. Producing a praiseworthy sales sheet, 
she finds out what the girl likes in her 
work, asks about her methods in selling, 

(Continued on Page 113) 












THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 








NOTE :—This announcement answers two questions that big employers repeatedly ask, viz: 
(2) Why don’t more men train with LaSalle for the high pay positions in business ? 





(1) What makes LaSalle men so practical? 





= 


. The LaSalle Problem Method 


—and how it successfully condenses a lifetime of experience into a few months of study 


A question has blocked action on the part of many thoughtful men who 
were and are sincere in their desire to qualify in high salary fields. They 
have asked themselves whether training g: uined at home by correspondence 

\ might not prove to be mere “ book-learning”’—impractical—unmarketable. 

We have no fault to find with this question —it is anaturalone. The burden of 
our criticism rests on the man who permits the question to be its own answer, and 
to block and stop him in his upward climb without seeking further enlightenment. 

For, when nearly a quarter of a million men have trained with LaSalle and 
found bigger, better things through this training, 
there must be sound reasons for their success. 

There ere reasons. They lie in the LaSalle Prob 
len Method of imparting —not “ book-learning” 
but real, practical, usable business experience. 

A knowledge of principles is one thing. The 
ability toapply and use principles — actually dothe 
work at hand—is another, and the gap between 
the two is bridged by one factor and one only 
EXPERIENCE. 

That’s why business men place such a premium 
on experience it safeguards them against costly 
experiments. 

Suppose you decided to take up as your life 
work —accountancy, say. 

Now stretch your imagination a trifle. 
Suppose that through the offices of an influen 
tial friend arrangements were made for you to 
step in and immediately occupy the position you 


You can answer these questions — your good sense tells you that the situation 
described would make you a practical man—sure, certain and confident 
able and capable of holding down any situation the accounting field offered. 

And that is why the LaSalle Problem Method makes practical men. 
Simply because the procedure outlined above is followed—exactly. 


True, you do your work at home. True, 


the experts who help you 
are loc ated here in Chicago. 


Nevertheless, under the LaSalle Problem Method you are actually oc« up) 


ing the position you are training to fill, whether 








it be in the accountancy field, or traffic, or busi 
ness Management, or law, or correspondence 
irrespective of what you are studying, you are 
acquiring principles and applying them in actual 
business under the watchful eyes and helpful 
guidance of men big in your chosen field, 

And when you have completed your LaSalk 
work, you can truthfully say that you are not only 
a thoroly trained man, but an experienced man 
you know the bed-rock principles and you have 
theyare familiartoolsin yourhands. 
walk in anywhere with 
feel the uncertainty 
and fear that when one faces the new and 

| nder the Problem Method he 
his chosen field on his own feet. The 
the problems, the difficulties — he 
met, faced and conquered them all. 


used themall 
\ LaSalle man can 

conhadence He does not 

arise 
! 

unknown. has 

explored 


questions has 





intended training to fill right in the organiza 
tion of a big corporation, with a complete 
department under your orders. 

Say that by your side were placed, as your in 
structors and guides, several high grade account 
ants—men of national reputation—their 
duty being to train and equip you. 


training for. 


S le 


With these men instructing you 1 proper principles 
exercising your own judgment in hz so transactions and solving problems 
as they arose in your daily work —do you get the idea? You would be acquiring 
experience right along with the bed-rock fundamentals of the profession. 

i Sitting in the chair of authority-—dealing with actual business— learning 
by applying what you learned — with experts correcting your errors, commend 
ing good work, guiding you aright through the ramifications, routine and 
emergency situations of the entire accounting field and making you make 
good every step of the way—mind —not ina class room, but right in a business 
office where you would be actually doing the work you were training for 

wouldn’t you, at the end of a year or so in this situation, be much farther 
ahead than men who had spent years seeking the same knowledge in the 
old, hard, “‘find-out-for-yourself”” way ? 


7 





The LaSalle Problem Method places you in the position you are 


Big executives coach you in your exercise of 
judgment and initiative in the actual handling of real business 
problems. Self-confidence—practical, usable knowledge—all the 
things born of experience come to you from and thru the LaSalle 
Problem Method because it makes you an experienced man. 


then you yourse lf 


His experience makes him know that, altho he 
may be as sumMIng anew position at highe rpay, the 
duties of that position are an old, familiar story. 

Experience is cash capital in business. 

There are only two ways to get it: 

One ts the old, uncertain way. The man 
who chooses to learn a branch of business by pick 
ing it up bit by bit as he goes along, finds the years slip by faster than he 
thought and sometimes his progress not as sure as he had anticipated. 
For, all the “bits of knowledge” he sought may not have come his way.’ 


slow, 


Problem 
y | his Way condenses 
lifetime 


The other road is short, sure and certain. It lies through the 
Method, exclusive with LaSalle Extension University. 
nto the experience which it takes most men 


There is. food — tor 
serious thought in the 
literature that 
when you send the cou 
pon at the bottom ot 
this page. 


months, 


fo vain 


comes 





LaSalle Extension University 


The Largest Business Training Institution in the World 











 t 
If you are in earnest when you say to yourself that you must do something to permanently increase your 
f earning capacity—then—check the coupon below in the square opposite that training which appeals 
) most to you. It is a step you will never regret. And it is a step that is one hundred times as hard to 
7 make tomorrow as it is to take today. Where’s that pen—never mind, a pencil will do just as well. 
LASALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY Dept. 171-R CHICAGO, HL. L. INOIS 
Please send me catalog and full information regarding the course and servi I have marked wit! X below Also a copy of your book Ten Years’ Promoti hout 
id HIGHER A UNTANCY Training fo ( MMERCIAL LAW Reading, Reterer INDUSTRIAI MANAGEMENT EFFI EFFEC dad, SPEAk ( I 
/ position: ms a Audit rs, Comptre Hers, Publi he C] aa Consultation Service for Busine Mer CIENCY Training for Production Manager ] eff 
coun s, ( A untants, et PERSONNEL AND EMPLOYMENT MAN Department Head and all those desiring t ! I 
BUSINESS MANAGEMENT: Training for [ AGEMENT: Training for Employer training in the 48 factors of efficiency « 
s aie ial, Managerial, Sales and Executive po ployment Managers, Executive Indu ! [- BUSINESS LETTER WRITING Prainis [ I 4. COACH ( i 
. sition E ngineers for positior 1s Correspondents, Mail bb | UNT J 
' EXPERT BOOKKEEPING Training for BANKING AND FINANCE: Training for =~ tors and executive letter-writing posit I 
4 [ Head Bookkeeper ® xecutive positions in Bank ind Financial Lj LAW Training for Bar; LL.B. D MODE ! ! 
COMMERCIAL SPANISH Training for Institution f Bi cys MANAG 1 MENT FOREIGN [ | r { 
+ Fycom ms a Foreign Correspondents with BUSINESS ENGLISH: Trair for Bu LJ AND DOMESTIC for | ' ri 
Spanish-speaking countrie Correspondents and ¢ Writer Railroad and Indu ¥. il Tr fhe Managers, et 
Name Present Position Address 











THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


ISTERIN 


January 1,192! 





TOOTH PASTE 


isterine Tooth Paste! Made by the makers of Listerine! 
It ought to be good, from all you know about Listerine. 





And it is good. Good because 
it’s made by the Lambert Pharma- 
cal Company, the makers of Lister- 
ine. Good because it contains a 
pleasant fruit acid—and because a 
slightly acid paste is best for your 
teeth. 

An acid dentifrice, it is now 
believed, best maintains the nor- 
mal flow of saliva. This normal 
flow of saliva is itself of the utmost 
natural benefit. 

You can understand this easily. 


Think of lime juice or lemon juice. 





LAMBERT 


PHARMACAL 


COMPANY iw 


A 


SAINT 


Your mouth waters cepiously; even 
the thought of these familiar fruit 


‘ 


acids “stimulates” your saliva. 


Could you have any simpler 
explanation of why Listerine Tooth 
Paste is slightly acid? To make 
your saliva flow freely, and help 
Nature take care of your mouth. 


When the Lambert Pharmacal 
Company offer you a tooth paste 
as good in its line as their famous 
Listerine is in its line, then it’s 
time to try it! 


LOUIS 


U.S.A. 
















(Continued from Page 110) 
and perhaps transfers her to some other 
department where her ability can be uti- 
lized to better advantage. Shortcomings 
shown up by her record, on the other hand, 
may bring out a tale of misunderstanding 
and trouble—the other girls have all the 
best customers, the department manager 
does not give her a chance, and so on. In 
which case the welfare manager begins 
with punctuality, sensible clothes, regular 
meals and hours, and helps her to better 
health and a better psychology. 

Wild girls show up in the organization. 
Their wildness may be largely excess energy, 
which if properly directed can be trans- 
formed into useful work. Through close 
acquaintance among older girls in every 
department it is possible to form combina- 
tions whereby the ambitious girl, the care- 
less and the wild ones are supervised, 
helped, trained and developed by their 
companions. There is also an educational 
department, where girls study sales meth- 
ods, merchandise and the technicalities 
connected with their jobs. 

Retail opportunity is really fivefold. 
Handing five-and-ten-cent-store merchan- 
dise over a counter might be considered the 
very beginning of sales work, the lowest 
rung in the ladder. But it is a real begin- 
ning. The rung is accessible to the merest 
novice, and the ladder goes high. bbe ey 
experience with people as they come to the 
counters and sections of retail stores many 
a girl has learned to sell other things, in 
different fields, in bigger units. The next 
opportunity in retail work is the buying 
of merchandise, with all that means in tech- 
nical know ledge, appraisal of values, ma- 
terials, manufacturing methods, fashions 
and novelties. Third comes management — 
the handling of a single department or a big 
retail business, ‘recruiting an organization 
of employees, directing policy, finance. 
Fourth, there is advertising, nowadays a 
branch of business in itself, and one pe- 
culiarly attractive to women. Finally, there 
is the side of accounts and records, in which 
the simply typing or filing job may lead 
to good positions in accounting, credits or 
the creative record keeping which is becom- 
ing more vital to business every day. 

For the boy the city has been made 
attractive and his path there easier by the 
expanding success and how-to literature of 
the past fifteen years. For the girl, how- 
ever, there is not nearly so much written 
along these lines. Even though successful 
in business, reporters and magazine authors 
still regard her as a crowing hen and qual- 
ify their accounts of her success by carefully 
explaining that she is still feminine—which 
is about as soothing as a red rag to a turkey 
gobbler. A boy’s career in office work, 
factory supervision, salesmanship, engi- 
neering or any other line is blazed with 
guideposts, each step being explained in a 
copious technical literature. But girls still 
go it blind, more or less. Authors seem to 
pay scant attention to their opportunities 
in industry—how a girl is to land a job, do 
her work, and the why and wherefore gen- 
erally which would enable her to grasp 
principles and advance by brains as well as 
dexterity. Her average working career 
is short. 


Advancement Must be Earned 


“Even the best of them up and marry” 
is the skeptical attitude toward feminine 
ability, borne out by the disappearance 
into home liie of yest erday’ s conspicuously 
successful business women, Therefore a 
woman must fight harder to rise to execu- 
tive positions. 

The business world still insists upon 
teaching her detached tasks and routine 
jobs, paying little attention to the broad 
technical principles that would help her 
rise and perhaps persuade her to stay 
longer. If she becomes a forewoman, super- 
intendent or office manager it is probably 
because she demonstrates unusual ability; 
whereas with men advancement is often 
a matter of time and seniority. 

A girl can often beat a man, not simply 
in routine work requiring dexterity and 
patience, but by bringing her own ability 
into some field which has been regarded 
as peculiarly masculine. 

In the introduction of electrical conven- 
iences into homes, for example, a public- 
service company found that its salesmen 
were thoroughly effective in placing elec- 
tric ranges, washing machines, vacuum 
cleaners and other apparatus of consider- 
able cost, because these devices carried the 
best profit margin with the highest salaries 





and commissions. But they neglected the 
small conveniences, like flatirons, percola- 
tors and toasters, selling for a few dollars; 
it took a great many calls and sales to roll 
up a good week’s income, and the kind of 
salesman satisfied to plug along on small 
appliances was seldom capable of selling 
anything else. These appliances were 
grouped separately, and girls and women 
hired to push them systematically. The 
community was divided into districts for 
house-to-house canvassing. Each member 
of the feminine sales force got a moderate 
weekly salary, a sales commission for each 
appliance placed and so much percentage 
on additional current consumption result- 
ing from her work. 

Starting out in the morning with a pack 
of record cards showing past and potential 
customers in given territory, she patiently 
went from house to house, sticking to rou- 
tine as she would have stuck to a gauging 
job in a factory. It was practically a gaug- 
ing job, because investigation of electrical 
appliances already in use and reports upon 
those which were not working satisfac- 
torily came ahead of actual selling. But 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 





this straight plugging and feminine pa- | 


tience with small things showed results far 
beyond anything that had ever been at- 
tempted by the male sales force, and 
acquaintance and confidence developed 
thereby led to many installations of larger 
appliances. 


The Value of Patience 





Psychologists have diligently sought for 
differences between men and women, meas- 
uring intellectual faculties, vision, taste, 
smell, hearing, color perception and the 
like. Mighty few have been found; it is a 
daring psychologist indeed who will say of 
a —- hy we trait “‘This is a feminine 
trait’ “That is distinctly masculine 
women leit. do it.” 


muscular strength, more endurance, are 
able to move a little faster and make move- 
ments slightly more precise. But women 
have finer discrimination in color and musi- 
cal tone. Men are probably more ingenious, 
pore women possibly superior in memory, 
and perhaps in associative thinking—and 
so forth. Probably, possibly, presumably, 
perhaps! The more science investigates 
the more carefully it hedges. 

But in the world of woman’s work sex 
differences have become as definite as black 
and white, and utilized to the advantage 
of business and herself. If science would 
drop its motor-ability apparatus for a 
while, and hold the stop watch on some 
such trait as patience, it would be verifyin 
results long ago arrived at by business, an 
perhaps indicate broader lines along which 
business can apply characteristic feminine 
abilities. 

The first telephone operators were boys, 
with voices at about the cracking age. But 
boys were distracted by the heavy traffic 
pressure and sassed the indignant sub- 
scriber. Then girls were substituted. They 
were not only patient and soft-spoken 
themselves but the public became more 
patient and soft-spoken with them. Women 
are supposed to be tensely personal— 
unable to handle things in a detached, im- 
personal way. But telephone experience 
has demonstrated that they manage the 
public more impersonally on telephone 
switchboards than male operators, carrying 
out day by day, without a lapse, no matter 
what the pressure or provocation, the 
standard telephone operating routine, which 
confines them to half a dozen phrases, like 
‘“‘Number, please?’’ Men make the routine, 
but women carry it on. 

-atience as a stop-watch faculty could 
unquestionably be measured and women 
found superior in places like complaint 
departments, adjustment bureaus, infor- 
mation booths, ticket windows and similar 
departments of business organization. A 
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SATURDAY EVENING POST 


| of all, new savings accounts showed sub- 
sequent growth, indicating satisfaction with 
and confide nce in the bank. 

woman’s capacity for loyalty is so 
definite that the business world often gives 
her positions of trust without security, 
where men in the same places would be 
bonded... The defaulting and absconding 
woman employee is exceedingly rare. Not 
all business contingencies can be insured 
with a fidelity bond. No such protection 
is possible with confidential business in- 
formation, for example. Business leaks 
through the disclosure or sale of corre- 
spondence, records and secrets are common 
in the news of the day; but that sort of 
faithlessness is exceedingly rare among 
women—almost invariably the treacherous 
file clerk or private secretary is a man. 
Women have better memories than men 
greater capacity for feeling, greater sta- 
bility, closer concentration on familiar 
routine, a sure-fire sense of humor when a 
cloud passes over the sun, better judgment of 
people, and other faculties which business 
recognizes and utilizes, though it may be 
intuitively. 

These faculties are constantly widening 
feminine opportunities and creating whole 
fields of employment characteristically 
feminine. 

From the first spear-carrying job of the 
green miss just out of school and short 
dresses to an executive position, or a 
business for herself, there is open to woman 
not merely a road but a constantly grow- 
ing highway system through all industries. 
The number of lady blacksmiths and stone 
cutters at the last census was limited, but 
we had a few. Women had not yet ap- 
peared in the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, 
police force, fire department, a locomotive 
cab, structural iron crew or boiler works; 
but that was ten years ago—probably the 
new census will show them in all these 
occupations, just because no woman was 
doing it. 

Woman is not only drifting to the cities 
but setting them in order and making a new 
environment therein for herself and arriv- 
ing sisters. The boy who drifted to town 
any time these two past generations has 
been elaborately taken care of, with clubs, 
gymnasiums, entertainments, night classes 
and organizations for making friends, find- 
ing playmates and getting on. But girls’ 
needs along the same lines have been rather 
neglected until recently. 


| 





Housing the Girls 


Philadelphia's experience during the war 
is a handy illustration. There were thou- 
sands of Quaker City girls and women at 
work before the war in offices, shops and 
factories; but they lived at home, had their 
own friends, interests, church and social 
connections, recreations, sports, meeting 
places. War picked up green country girls 
by handfuls, along with clerical and indus- 
trial workers from other cities, and dropped 
them into the town’s expanding war activ- 
ities. Stenographers, typists, clerks, sec- 
retaries, shop assistants, mill and factory 
operatives arrived on every train. Uncle 
Sam’s shipbuilding organization was moved 
up bodily from Washington in army trucks, 
setting its files and typewriters down on a 
magic carpet, between Saturday night and 
Monday morning, with the filing girls and 
stenographers. Boarding houses and fur- 
nished rooms filled up and overflowed, 
restaurants stood people in line at lunch 
and dinner hours, theaters were crowded. 
Quaker City women drawn from their 
homes into war work suddenly discovered 
that the town lacked living quarters, meet- 
ing places and facilities for these newcomers 
to get together. 

There were institutions like the Young 
Women’s Christian Association, maintained 
| with some vague idea of providing for 
strangers, but when the war workers 
poured in, these institutions were swamped 
and did not come within a hundred miles 
of meeting the situation. 

Two immediate needs were imperative 
not theories, but crying conditions—decent 
places for the girl workers to live, and team- 
work in bringing them together so they 
| could develop their own recreations. 

A big, old-fashioned residence near the 
downtown section was vacant. This was 
leased by a group of society women and 
| turned into a Y clubhouse. Bedrooms were 
| fitted up on the upper floors and let at 
| reasonable rates, while the ground floor 
| was turned into a restaurant and lounge, 
| with books, music, magazines. Brought 
together on the primitive basis of shelter, 





_lar officers and by-laws, 


January 1,192! 


food and companionship, the girls quickly 
began to do the rest. Little knots and 
groups formed along lines of office acquaint- 
ance, sports and common interests. When 
a crowd of that sort came together spon- 
taneously, it was encouraged to organize, 
electing officers and planning recreations. 
It might be the Sunday Hike Club, the 
Maple Leaf Guild, the Seven Seas Soror- 
ity—any live interest sufficed. With regu- 
the girls could 
choose their own associates and interests. 

In a little while these clubs inside a club, 
with hobbies ranging from outdoor sports 
to highbrow things like books and music, 
were so effective in providing interests that 
the startled society women found the girls 
were living too much to themselves, seldom 
seeing young men. So dances were or- 
ganized, and a parlor set apart for Jill to 
receive Jack. Housing congestion not only 
in Philadelphia, but practically everything 
that draws girls into industry and business 
life, has made this problem of meeting 
places acute. Formerly the boarding house 
had its parlor where young people could 
meet, but rising rents and the overwhelm- 
ing demand for rooms have practically abol- 
ished this institution in most cities. The 
parlor, too, contributes its revenue, and so 
is rented, and young people are practically 
driven into the streets. 


Recreation Places Needed 


Places where young men can get together 
are fairly plentiful in our cities and indus- 
trial centers; but places where girls can 
have their sports, feasts and talk fests are 
still lacking, along with places for dances 
and other gatherings of both sexes. The 
girls themselves are taking hold of this 
problem in many cases, providing their own 
recreation; but they need leadership and 
help in financing. 

Several of these clubs were established 
during the war, and have been continued 
as permanent institutions. The war- 
working girl who drifted to the city has 
remained in industry. These clubhouses are 
necessary and are rapidly growing in num- 
ber and size throughout the country wher- 
ever working women need them. Apart 
from rooms, meals and associates, there are 
other attractions. First of all in popularity 
come sports, the gym and especially the 
swimming pool. After-work school facili- 
ties come pretty near being second, and the 
girl who goes to work suddenly finds prac- 
tical uses for education, making good short- 
comings in the three R’s, and studying 
stenography, typing, accounting, foreign 
languages. Plain English is one of the 
courses in greatest demand, while a knowl- 
edge of Spanish or French added to ste- 
nography may mean promotion as private 
secretary to an export manager or profit- 
able work in translating letters. 

Wild oats are rather a common crop 
among the girls who drift to cities. But the 
crop is economic, seldom moral. Leaving 
home and restraint, earning her own liveli- 
hood and living her own life, with not very 
much in the way of standards to guide her, 
the country grub begins turning herself 
into a city butterfly. However, there is 
seldom anything very wicked about such 
extravagance. More often it represents 
the desire for a broader and more interest- 
ing life and appreciation of pretty things, 
without the balance of perspective and ex- 
perience. 

In practically every big railroad terminal 
through which girls pass on their road to the 
opportunity and excitement of the cities a 
National Travelers’ Aid organization main- 
tains representatives day and night, ready 
to deal with anything out of the ordinary. 
Runaway girls as well as boys, hardly in 
their teens, turn up on their way to the 
Indian hunting grounds of the West—to 
the girls the West now means moviedom 
and its alluring careers. Older girls, lured 
to the city on some suspicious quest, oc- 

casionally need help in untangling them- 

selves. Girls of weak mentality wander to 
the city occasionally, and not long ago a 
runaway girl of eighty-odd years turned up 
in an Eastern city, bent on freedom and a 
“areer—she had escaped from a lunatic 
asylum. But one year with another, the 
p roportion of runaway and moonstruck 

rls drifting to the cities is small. The 
great normal tide passes without incident 
or interruption, enters business and indus- 
try in constantly increasing numbers, 
learns its job, does its work and gains ex- 
perience that is afterward useful. For these 
are Grandma Witt’s bright girls—they are 
not being left behind this generation! 








THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


















































Choosing the Electrical Servants for Your Home 


LECTRICITY has furnished 
the elusive answer to the 
servant problem. Transporting 


power cheaply and efficiently to any 
point of convenience, it has changed 
the entire aspect of housekeeping by 
its ability to do mechanically the 
heavy household tasks, and by eco- 
nomically providing the highest type 
of home comforts and conveniences. 
appliances that 

most effective 


In selecting the 
will make electricity 
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by his advice—and by some nationally 
known trade-mark such as Western 
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as an assurance of satisfaction and 
good value. 


Habirshaw Wire Manufactured by 
Habirshaw Electric Cable Co. 


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Give even more careful thought to 
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actual foundation of electrical de- 
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qualified architects 


stallation and 


made by and 
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contractors, and exacting 
maintained in 
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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 





A Permanently Beautiful Home 


DECORATIVE scheme is attractive only 
so long as the finishes hold their color 
and stand the wear of time and usage. 
Sherwin-Williams Flat-Tone on walls and 
ceilings, Old Dutch Enamel on woodwork 
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S-W Flat-lTone produces rich, soft effects 
that will not fade or crack, and which can be 


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Drie over night Will not scratch white 
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January 1,192! 








—s— = 








THE MOTHER AND HER BOY 


(Continued from Page 10) 


Even without the female replica of button- 
nose and sway-jaw, you knew the other 
mother belonged to Peter. By the anguish 
in her wretched, wabbly, teary face, the 
tremor of her black cotton gloves, by the 
— adoration she turned on the window 

rture when Peter’s buckwheat stubble 
fi led it, by the ditto of primal loathing 
directed there when Mabel blushed instead. 
She was so completely a spectacle of dole 
and woe that I felt like getting out to com- 
fort her. For after all there was comfort to 
offer. She had had Peter to herself longer 
than any other mother in history. The 
longevity of modern boyhood is without 
parallel. In Sparta she would have lost her 
son at six; her pioneer grandmothers lost 
him in the later teens, boys of eighteen and 
nineteen striking out on their own, marry- 
ing, beginning family life. Her great-great- 
grandmothers of the dark Paleolithic times 
lost him utterly at puberty. At fourteen 
years he was initiated; he dwelt apart fora 
space, was painted with stripes and em- 
blems befitting manhood, had sundry of his 
teeth knocked out to proclaim his estate, 
and thereafter his mother had as much 
claim and influence upon him as an aged 
barnyard hen has upon the proud new 
cockerel that salutes his first sun. The 
mother of to-day—especially of the moder- 
ately well-to-do class, where he is protected 
from a too-early contact with the pay en- 
velope, where the college career is a natural 
conclusion—has very special privileges if 
she chooses to exercise them. She can keep 
her boy to the limit of the biological possi- 
bility, if she wishes, and bring to the finest 
flower such influences as are properly hers. 
What these influences are is meat for much 
careful thought. 


Unchangeable Clay 


My personal platform in this matter is 
stated in a paradox. I believe a mother 
cannot do very much for her boy and I 
believe she can do a great deal. The first 
half of the paradox represents her reaction 
to his heredity, over which she has no con- 
trol whatever; the second is, of course, his 
adaptation to environment—that adapta- 
tion which we all of us make if we are to 
live in and with society at all, and in the 
making of which the mother is of invaluable 
assistance to the son. 

Woman is the world’s greatest sculptor. 
The thing she sculps, by preference, is a 
man.. When she has a son she sculps him; 
if not—or perhaps also—she sculps a hus- 
band. Most men will verify this. She has 
accomplished some wonderful things by this 
yredilection for the molding thumb. She 

as molded civilization to a large extent; 
has given it hanckerchiefs, napkins, plumb- 
ing and religion; and she has done wonders 
with her plastic human material. At least 
men tell her so. 

“The hand that rocks the cradle is the 
hand that rules the world.” 

“All great men have good mothers.” 

I am willing to concede that I and all 
other mothers can perhaps shape and mold. 
But we cannot alter by a scintilla the clay 
in which we work. This was mixed for us 
in the beginning of time, and offers set and 
rigid barriers to our interference. When 
we overstep or ignore these we become not 
sculptors but meddlers. Here are two verses 
from a poem by Hilda Hall that exactly fit 
the question of the boy to my mind: 


He, though in making, still 
is in himseif complete ; 

An elemental trill 
Echoes behind his feet, 


Inviolate even after 
Ag 8 of dissenting tongues; 
He is incarnate laughter, 
Lifting from Time's deep lungs. 


In order to know how far we may im- 
press—at what point impression becomes 
cutting or gouging—we must give some 
thought to this matter of a son’s funda- 
mental qualities and composition. In order 
to avoid rushing in where angels fear to 
tread, and invading a personality whereby 
we make the havoc of a bull in a china 
shop; in order to know when to lay our 
hands on him and when to lay off and let 
him alone, we must take definite account of 
the mysterious limitations offered to us in 
his heredity. 

Mothers seldom think very far along this 
line. They do not consider the problem of 





a boy’s inheritance except in terms of his 
parents or grandparents. If he has blue 
eyes, they are “like mine”; if he stamps 
and cries and refuses to yield, “John is so 
bull-headed’’; if he is acquisitive, “‘Uncle 
Will was so saving’’; or if he has an angelic 
disposition, “‘I was never any trouble to 
mother.”’ If he is given to a liking for soli- 
tude or fits of brooding, “I can’t under- 
stand where he gets it, neither of us is like 
that. You’d think he was somebody else's 
child.” 

She forgets that the little bundle of en- 
ergy she holds in her arms and which she 
fondly believes she has created, is the whole 
human race, with the history of its struggle 
and evolution on its back. That it is a bun- 
dle of separable and dissociate personalities 
which must try to live in one human 
house—and whom here and there, along 
the line, she will meet cropping out oc- 
casionally; not necessarily Great-uncle 
Henry, who was a saint in the church in a 
boiled shirt and gold fob, but perhaps one 
Sieur Guillaume, a swashbuckling, footless 
adventurer who fought for Henry of Na- 
varre; or one Viretti, an Italian killer whose 
dirk was for sale in the fifth century and 
who died on the gibbet. ‘‘ My child! I guess 
not! We were always respectable!” Or 
Ossian, a scrambling red-bearded poet of 
the Celtic moss bogs; or Tintagl, newly got 
up off all fours in a cave in Finland, who 
fought his enemies with a club of mastodon 
bone. 

I think I can safely state that she will 
meet Tintagl rather oftener than any of the 
others. 

But at any rate her boy is somebodies’ 
darling—a whole flock of ’em. She cannot 
alter this. The predominance, the inter- 
play, the synchronization of his heredity is 
predetermined for her, ruled by the chem- 
istry of his being; his choices along tem- 
peramental lines are all fixed, deep-laid 
within him, like hidden mines; and she 
must accept and exercise a wise noninter- 
ference here. 

It is just this that is so difficult for some 
women, They cannot let their children 
alone and accept this fact. No woman can 
make water flow uphill. No woman can 
make a fiddler son out of a mechanic, nora 
sanguine lad from a nervous type; no 
woman can make a sissy out of a fighter 
sissies are born and reénforced, not made; 
and finally her most common error—no 
woman can make a son fall in love with a 
blonde if his love image is a brunette. She 
may accomplish these things in semblance, 
but in reality she effects only tragedy. 

She will cause ‘‘concert”’ and “curse”’ to 
sound like the same word in a son’s ears; 
she will drive a nervous temperament to 
repressions that will take toll in a hidden 
neurosis; she will make miserable a boy 
trying to stifle his natural impulses for 

valor in obeying her foolish lady like inhibi- 
tions; she will accomplish a son’s marriage 
to the wife she picks, but marital fidelity 
will be a lifelong secret burden to him. 


Intelligent Guidance 


She has in reality altered not one least 
fundamental quality of his composition. 

I repeat that she cannot do anything 
with the contour her boy’s heredity as- 
sumes—that her only field of success in 
molding or shaping lies in adapting this 
heredity, this essential composition of him, 
to the demands of the world he is living in. 

How will she do this? She will not do it 
all. She will teach him to do it. She will 
help him to help himself. 

1 believe this is the only way in which a 
mother can intelligently shape a son’s life. 
He has come to her, full of curious unde- 
veloped potentialities, without conscious 
memory or knowledge of life. His mother 
is to be his guide. She has been over these 
paths before—up to a point her experience 
in life coincided with the paths his feet will 
take. Beyond that she can offer him vica- 
rious experience, through her imagination, 


her contact with literature and history. | 


She has evolved out of her experience and 


observation a sum total of expediency. | 
She has learned the interrelation of cause | 
and effect. She has learned that fire burns; | 


that honesty is the best policy; that you’ve 
got to think of the other fellow. 

These things she must show him—not 
merely in a sort of patina, a veneering made 
out of a lot of precepts and an eternal mill- | 
ing of talk. Heis from Missouri! He must 





THE SATURDAY 








EVENING POST 





For over a generation 


WL BRAND—with the Brown Band 
—begins his New Year with more 
friends than ever before. 

Good judges of tobacco have smoked 
Owls for over thirty years, yet the Owl 
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because the General Cigar Co., Inc., con- 
stantly keeps $3,000,000 worth of leaf in 
reserve, always curing and mellowing. 

Every leaf of the tobacco that goes into 
an Owl Cigar is high in quality. The 
filler is long-leaf and fragrant. The wrap- 
per is of genuine Sumatra. 


Try Owl. The value for the money was 
never greater. 


NATIONAL BRAND 
NEW YORK CITY 


Te @)’,'2 5 Brand 


With the Brown Band 








118 THE SATURDAY 


This New Light 
What Is It? 


A tiny glow that guides 
to it through the 

a gentle pull on a 
a sudden, 
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LIGHT, that reaches up- 
ward from its graceful bowl, 
pours and 
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The 
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fluc mce;s 


eye 


you 
dark 


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taut 
brighten as are 
eased 
What 
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Gas Light 
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in its 


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Mebsb ach 
Gas Bowl 


Csas Lighting could 
Do you 
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ike this Welsbach 

transforming 


KNOW 
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GAS COMPANY 


rese new Welsbach 


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WE 





| see them for himself. 


| him; B 
| trusted to him, which he 


EVENING POST 


I believe the arbi- 
trary imposition of ideals, of fixed principles 
and rules, is meaningless. The appeal must 
be made through a boy’s reason. A mother 
must give his budding intelligence the 
proper food, answering his questions—and 
there will be one or two!—to the extremest 
reach of her human capacity. He is a 
newly arrived visitor, and is full of inter- 
est in the customs of the country he has 
come to. 

She must acquaint the boy with certain 
forces he carries in himself—with, princi- 
pally, the three that will carry him to and 
through a successful career: his will power, 
his bodily vitality, his courage. She should 
let him understand by simple, practical dem- 
onstration on his own part, that his will is 
something that grows strong with use; that 
it may be an instrument to befriend or rend 
that it is like a small plant germ in- 
can cultivate toa 
strong stalwart growth. I think the de- 
velopment of a boy’s will power and the 
line of its growth lie largely in a mother’s 
keeping. 

She must teach good body ideals—a 
standard of health and cleanliness, of respect 
for his physical well-being; that violation of 


| this standard in any way will undermine 


him in all his powers. 

She must teach him the principles of 
courage—to draw on his reserve fund of 
nerve—to believe in himself and his own 
strength. That like old Cyrano de Ber- 
gerac he must wear a white plume on the 
top of his hat, that others seeing it in the 


| fray may know he is of high heart and good 
| spirit. 


These issues, ultimately of vital impor- 
tance, are laid over a long trail of little in- 
consequent daily happenings. The dose of 
ugly-tasting medicine 

““Now which one of you two is going to 
thrash the other? Can you conquer this 
medicine and swallow it, bad as it tastes, 
or will it conquer you and make you yell 
and run?” 

“You've had enough cake, but you can 
have more if you’re willing to take a chance 
on being sick for the picnic to-morrow.” 
Or “The boy is only bullying you. Don’t 
be afraid to pass his house. If he rushes 
out at you, stand up to him. You can let 
him have it. You're as strong as he.” 

With such prosaic bricks is a boy’s char- 


| acter built and the best tone given to his 


| parent who was asked next 


morale. He can be let to understand that 
he is like a car—assembled of different 
parts; that according to his manner of 


assembling them he will be a beautiful, 
strong, high-powered racer reaching any 
goal; or a fussy, panting, second-rate also- 
ran. In short, a mother sets her boy an 
ideal working pattern of himself. It is a 
platitude to say that this is her job. It al- 
ways has been, it always will be. He may 
not approximate it—being a finite human 
thing like herself—but if she doesn’t give 
it to him the chances are no one else will. 


The Cult of the Child 


A crime very commonly committed by 
mothers is the attempt to live a son’s life 
for him. This was even commoner a gener- 
ation or two ago than to-day. This was a 
period when boys ran away from home, 
when parents spoke of breaking a child’s 
will. 

Visitors in the plush and horsehair glories 
of Victorian parlors surveying modest little 
flights of graduated progeny talked quite 
over the child’s head. When the little maids 
had had their chins chucked and the little 
men—there were no little boys—had had 
the shape of their heads admired, it was the 
“And what 
are you going to make of Charles or Loren 
or Dick or Harry?” And the parent was 
usu ally ready. 

“We are thinking of letting Charles 
study for the ministry,” or “‘ Loren writes a 
very good hand; we shall probably make 
a lawyer of him.” 

All Charley or Loren had to do was to look 
pleasant. There was no juvenile referen- 
dum or recall. Parents worked under a 
me-und-Gott complex. 

To-day the pendulum has swung the 
other way. There are a number of us who 
will say that when Victorians went out and 
children came in, we got the lid off too far. 
We set up the cult of the child with such 
fury and ardor, and repudiated so violently 
everything our grandmothers believ~d in, 
that he is by way of riding us with a high 
hand. It is true that we think our grand- 
mothers knew very little about children. 
They underbathed them and fed them pie 


January 1,192! 


and rocked them to sleep and let them wear 
their adenoids, and were generally quite 
shocking. On the other hand they paid 
attention to certain things we do not bother 
with. They worried a lot about their chil- 
dren’s souls and thought a great deal about 
a child’s manner—his ideals of courtesy, 
reverence and consideration for others- 
the very bed rock of the word “‘ gentleman 
in the finest sense. We are not so concerned 
with these things. We go in for a rather 
Greek worship of the body. 

We formula and protein and serum and 
orthodontia and tonsil and sleeping-porch 
our boy. We don’t bother greatly about 
his soul. Our ideals tend toward his more 
material success, and we are content with 
the manners the dancing school may teach 
him. We have swung the pendulum almost 
to complete reverse, and indeed if the Boy 
Scout movement had not called our atten- 
tion a few years ago to certain neglected 
salt-of-the-earth ideas of the past—this 
same courtesy, thoughtfulness, kindliness 
to others—we should have gone on placidly 
letting self-expression in our young god- 
lings turn them into as pretty a lot of un- 
licked noisy young cubs as ever was. 
Mothers are beginning to realize that not 
everything they rejected was despicable, 
and more and more they will attempt to 
modify their ideas of what is necessary to 
well-rounded development for a boy. 

But there is one point where many 
mothers are still closely if unconsciously 
allied with very old-fashioned ideas, and 
that is on the question of vocational or 
avocational choices for a son—in their will- 
ingness to live a son’s life for him. 


A Persistent Fallacy 


This occurs especially often where a par- 
ent has been denied certain greatly desired 
things in his youth and has now the oppor- 
tunity to compensate himself vicariously 
by presenting them to his son. “I always 
wanted to study music, but couldn’t. So 
I’m starting Alfred right in at six. If I 
keep at him he can do all the things I 
couldn't.” It makes no difference that 
Alfred is a heaven-born naturalist with a 
passion for toads, spiders and hellgramites; 
he will have to writhe his way through end- 
less scales and arpeggios to materialize a 
lost maternal dream. “Ever since Floyd 
had the influenza,”” a mother said to me 
lately, “he has turned against his violin. 
He is crazy about reading and doesn’t want 
to practice at all. But I tell him he’s got to 
put himself down to it; it means too much 
to me.” 

The last clause covers the whole phi- 
losophy of this type of mother. 

“T never got less than ninety in history, 
but Ralph does dreadfully in it. I can’t see 
why. He’s forever making something with 
wires and strings and wheels.”’ Here the 
naturalist, the littérateur, the mechanical 
engineer will no doubt triumph. They will! 
rebel and find themselves, as the phrase 
goes, but what a lot of energy is wasted forc- 
ing them meanwhile to a futile peonage to 
adult desires. 

If my boy has no taste for music or is 
tone-deaf, what does it matter to me that 
Mrs. Other-Woman’s little Garfield can 
perform In a Little Cottage Near a Wood 
on the piano or cello? Let him. I'd as lief 
force my son to become a proficient on the 
jew's-harp. I'd get better results, I think. 
He will have something to balance this 
shortcoming. Let me find it. 

h, but that’s the point!” a mother 
cries. “‘I can’t find out what Stewart's tal- 
ents are or what he is tending toward. He 
hasn’t any talent. I might as well make 
him do something.” 

It is quite true that it is simpler for some 
mothers than others. Very easy, for ex- 
ample, for Hercules’ mother, finding the 
choked serpents in his baby hands, to sur- 
mise that he would head the strong-arm 
squad; or the mother of Handel, lighting 
her lanthorn at night and discovering her 
son at the spinet, to predict his musicianly 
qualities. 

But even the boy without the sharply 
defined talent or bent will offer straws to 
show which way the wind blows if he is 
given the chance. I believe it is the 
mother’s part to offer it—through toler- 
ance, patience, respect for his individuality 

Some time ago Sonny traded in for a 
wonderful brass horse. It had pawed and 
snorted for many a year on somebody’s 
onyx clock, and had lost its rider’s arm. It 
was dear and beautiful and sparkling, and 
presently convoyed by him to that special 

(Continued on Page 121) 





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(Continued from Page 118) 
sanctum where, under the collector’s com- 
plex in which we are living at present, he 
keeps an Eden Musée of strange, anomalous 
objects, arranged according to his own 
ideas, in a hair-raising violation of female 
order. 

An innocent charwoman, misunderstand- 
ing her instructions, ventured to lay sacri- 
legious hands on this collection and arrange 
it to something a feminine mind could 
understand. Sonny entered the room as 
she was finishing. His reaction was in- 
stantaneous, instinctive and universal to 
all males, similarly outraged. He released 
Tintagl from his Finnish cave, and with a 
cry, part sob, part scream, part battle cry, 
seized the brass horse and fell upon the 
offender. 

It was, of course, a shocking affair. We 
had to use a firm hand and drive Grandpa 
Tintagl back to his lair. We had to show 
him that ladies, however offending, must 
not be beaten with brass horses; but on the 
other hand we had to concede the violation 
of certain sacred rights. 

It is this sort of arbitration that whitens 
the maternal hair and qualifies her to wear 
the legal woolsack, but I believe it pays her 
enormous dividends in the end. I might 
add that in my own family the filial straws 
point to a junk-dealer’s career at present. 
I have no objection in the world. Did I not 
painfully carry but last spring the precious, 
moss-covered, time-blanched skull of a long 
defunct bullock over better than two miles 
of rubbly hill country road, and only yes- 
terday dismount from my car to assist in 
looting an aged mashed tin Lizzie, extract- 
ing therefrom two rusty piston rings. I 
have no objection to a career in junk or 
museum pieces. 


The Home Complex 


I am reminded of the Greek philosopher 
who asked his son, ‘‘And what dost thou 
wish to be when thou art a man?”’ 

“T will clean the streets of Athens,” the 
little fellow answered. 

“See then that thou clean them better 
than anyone else has done.” 

If we concede that a mother can help her 
son lay the foundations of a good character, 
establish a strong and healthy body, de- 
velop an ideal of gentlehood and let him 
bring forward freely those personal and 
mental traits which will indicate his future 
vocation, the question arises, For how long 
shall she attempt this assistance? Shall 
she carry her work forward through his ad- 
olescence or turn it over to another—to the 
head master and the preparatory school? 

Economic pressure settles this question 
for a wide range of mothers, for whom the 
vocational school or the industry becomes 
the final molding influence of her son’s 
youthful life; but where the college or 
university impends for the son of the house 
the agitation of this question becomes ex- 
ceedingly relevant. 

For a parent too indifferent or too busy 
to keep closely in touch with a boy passing 
through the delicate adjustive years of 
puberty, for a parent who is an awful ex- 
ample or who has failed utterly to help the 
boy make the first necessary adjustments in 
self-knowledge I have mentioned—a boy 
who has, so to speak, become a handful 
the preparatory school is the logical solu- 
tion. It stands in such cases in loco parentis, 
and is the best remedy for these condi- 
tions. 

But for the family with an ideal of self- 
control, consideration for others, respect 
for true American culture and an apprecia- 
tion of genuine aristocracy—those finer 
personal qualities that do not impinge on 
birth or place—I believe the preparatory 
school has nothing to offer. 

I hear dissenting cries. 

“Break the home complex,” says the 
psychoanalyst. “Cut the apron strings; 
get the boy on his own,”’ says the self-made 
man whoslept in a packing box and peddled 
newspapers for his start. And admirers of 
the British Empire cry: ‘‘How could the 
British ever have colonized the world with- 
out the initiative and daring developed by 
the breaking of early ties tnrough the 
boarding-school system?” 

I will not debate the last question, though 
prepared to suggest certain irrelevant facts 
as to geographical compression, the in- 
spiration to imagination of a small country 
surrounded by the sea; but if the home 
means an apron string or a sheath of cotton 
wool I agree with the first two. Home is 
not a place in which to tie up a boy or un- 
duly to protect him—it is a place merely to 


prepare him. The right sort of home will ; 


do this. I do not agree with the psycho- 
analyst anyhow. You can break ‘“‘a” home 
complex but never “‘the’”” home complex. 
It is an abiding symbol to man and accom- 
panies him to the last years of his life, 
when, like a tired child, he reaches out for 
something to go home to. I notice that 
men who slept in packing boxes and 
peddled newspapers are apt to pity them- 
selves, and it was a man with no home at 
all and consequently no complex who 
wrote the greatest song about it of all 
time—John Howard Payne, who wrote 
Home, Sweet Home. The instinct for home 
life, for the family relation, is an inherent, 
deep-laid one, and indestructible in its gen- 


eral aspect. Why then attempt to destroy | 


it, untimely, in the particular image? That 


this is a needlessly painful and cruel pro- | 
cess is borne out by the sort of letters young | 


lads write home; by the revelation highly 
organized, sensitive boys will make: 

“Dearest Father and Dearest Mother: I 
pray to you to let me come home. I have 
cried for three days. I cannot study. I am 
sick.” 

“Dear Mother: Well, here I am at schoél. 
I am not very well. How is the dog? I 
wish I could see you and father. The 
teachers are nice, but I do not like it but 
I will try to study. I wish I could see you 
and father.” 


“Dear Father and Mother: I am writing | 


to ask you to let me come home. There is 
nothing wrong with this school and the 
people are nice but I would like to of 
waited another year before going. I can’t 
seem to get my mind on my lessons or to 
sleep well.” 


These are, of course, reactions from boys 
sent away very young; but even at an 
age when the emotions are concealed and 
phlegm agd stoicism courted there is often 
a bitter dose of an entirely unnecessary an- 
guish, not the less profound because so 
often covered under a jaunty, casual, even 
gruff exterior. 

And the break once thus made is definite 
and final. The boy returns, but things are 
never quite the same. He has learned to 
live a life apart from his family. He has 
had his horizon suddenly, abruptly ex- 
panded, and is aware that his family is 
merely an unimportant integer in a great 
social sum, instead of the whole proposi- 
tion. This, of course, isa truth and not to be 
ignored, but in the normal course of things 
he would acquire the knowledge more 
gradually. The sending of a boy away to 
school is frequently analogous to the set- 
ting of an undeveloped plant in the warm 
blast of a hothouse. It is like the forcing 
process of horticulturists, and entirely an- 
tithetical to the slower developing pro- 
cesses of Nature. 


The Preparatory School 


What he has theoretically gained, of 
course, to offset any such disadvantage, is 
self-reliance. 

But his reliance is not so much on him- 
self as on the views and theories and pres- 
entations of his schoolmates. It is true 
that, called on for judgment, he cannot run 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


















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“Why, dormitory conversation is no 
worse than the conversation on public- 
school playgrounds, on street corners, and 
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It is not; but the boy who gets it on the 
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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


All healthy youth is fundamentally law- 
less and every school of boys of any kind 
is subconsciously a stream of energy organ- 
ized against authority. Is it better that 
life from any angle be learned by a boy ina 
continuous association with this implicit 
organization of youth than in interrupted 


| intervals, where there is still opportunity 


for intimate interest in him on the part of 


| those who have called him here, and which 


will never be felt by anyone else? ; 
I believe that self-reliance and esprit de 


| corps are as well learned in the home as 


| education; 


anywhere, by giving a boy a share in its 
responsibility, by asking his opinion on 
matters touching it, by giving him a chance 
for personal experiment, for the earning of 
pocket money, for little forays into life. A 
boy should have a certain amount of street 
he must run with the gang, 
mates of his choosing; must go out after 


| his own experience. To try to prevent this 


| is to mutilate him. 


He will make some sad 
mistakes, in your judgment, but the best 
corrective you can offer him is his home 
organization, the sum total of his father, 


| his mother, their associates, the line of talk 


he hears, the books they read, the ethical 
principles they practice. If your average is 
below seventy-five, don’t hesitate. Off 


| with him! 


“But,” one mother cries, ‘we have a 
good home and have tried everything, but 
Bill is insubordinate. He is insolent and 
contemptuous in his home. He behaves 
very well for his teachers, for outsiders, but 
we can’t do a thing with him.” 

It is a deplorable truth that outsiders can 
often do more for a boy than a parent; in 
fact, in a boy’s adolescence there comes a 
period when he reacts against his parents, 
quite unconsciously. The intensity of this 
reaction must govern the parent. 

There comes a time when any boy must 
readjust his world. He finds out his father 
and mother, discovers they are fallible; yes, 
even frauds. ¥ 

One boy of thirteen, pale and passionate, 
cried to his mother, hearing some social 
white lie: ‘‘Why, you and father are noth- 
ing but liars. The whole world is nothing 
but lies. I hate it. I don’t want to live 
in it.” 

This feeling often comes from the com- 
promise demanded in his ideals. Nothing 
is at once so absurdly idealistic and so 
hideously primal as this woolly young male 


| biped of the adolescent period. The clash 


and crash that is going on within him de- 
mands a patient understanding and toler- 
ance. Infact, understanding and tolerance, 
and a strong sense of humor, are the only 
things that will carry the parents through. 
Usually they can get through without any 
serious trouble other than the Willy Baxter 
problems of seventeen furnish. But here 
and there a boy, bitter, arrogant, defiant, 
derisive—even hating his father and 
mother—arises. There is no solution for 
him but separation. He will get toned 
down and will appreciate his home, his 
parents better. 

Yet here, too, however excellent the in- 
tention, I believe that there has been some 
slip; that his state is not so much an in- 
dictment of Bill as of Bill’s parents. 


The American Idea 


Unquestionably the prep school has 
many superior qualities. It is conducted 
by gentlemen who, in all situations where 
a gentleman can impose his standards of 
good breeding, will do their best for your 
boy. It offers an exceedingly fine classical 
flavor in its curriculum, less and less often 
made use of in the high school with its 
It offers, as a beau- 
tiful theory, certain standards of gentle liv- 
ing and contact with carefully reared 
youths, by being restricted to membership 
from that class that can afford to pay for 
such restriction. 

But even if this theory proved up it is, 
for a normal ideal of American living, 
founded on fallacy. It postulates a class 
distinction which does not exist in this 
country beyond, possibly, the college 
graduation. For the man who must inevi- 
tably take his place in a business or pro- 
fessional life later on, in contact with all 
manners and types of men, in the majority 
of cases deriving his livelihood from their 




























January 1,192! 


yatronage, it may prove an actual stum- 
bling block and an encumbrance. 

His best adjustment and reaction to the 
world he must live in, the world he must 
conform to, are got in his youthful plastic 
period by actual contact with the boys who 
will make these men. If he enters public 
school he associates with the son of Pat 
Grogan, the teamster; and Julius Rosen- 
feld, the little tailor’s son; and Paulos Con- 
stantine, whose father runs a candy store; 
and Hegob Bendir, the lace merchant’s 
son; with the sons of the butcher, the 
baker, the candlestick maker. They are a 
job lot, a hit-or-miss batch of boys. They 
enter school and take their places without 
preferment, and in athletics or in study the 
best man wins. This is the American idea— 
a proper respect for individual merit and 
energy; and considering our common and 
unaristocratic human ancestry hereinbe- 
fore mentioned, the only rational basis of 
classification. A boy thus associated learns 
that he must compete for the prizes of life 
they will not be presented. 

*Presently these boys will be out in actual 
life, the makers of their contemporary 
America. Surely that man who has learned 
in his youth to speak their language, to 
work and to play with them, will be the 
better equipped to understand them later, 
when he directs the big factory or the hospi- 
tal or the department store or the opera- 
tions of a court room. 


A Boy’s Rights 


The gift of handling men is the greatest 
practical asset in the world. It is possessed 
only by people who understand the com- 
mon ways of thinking. The preparatory 
school does not teach this to the boy. It is 
incompatible with the ideal of restriction 
It stands for a more limited, insulated cul- 
ture as against that broad, sweeping kind 
that embraces a knowledge of all sorts of 
men and conditions. 

I repeat that these paragraphs are set 
down in all modesty as the conclusions of a 
maternal Uriah Heep. They are the phi- 
losophy of a woman being personally con- 
ducted by one small boy, but who has had 
a close contact with many hundreds of lads, 
and who loves their tribe. Out of these 
experiences, real and vicarious, has been 
evolved a creed offered here in conclusion: 


A CREED FOR THE MOTHER OF A Boy 


I believe in the inalienable right of little 
boys: 

To have mothers who are good pals; 

To get dirt on their hands and clothes, to 
ask questions, to make a healthy racket, to 
shun parlor tricks, to express themselves 
and have a place in the sun, to be busy 
about the affairs that are peculiarly theirs, 
to bring their clutter into the house and fill 
their pockets with marbles and nails and 
acorns and corks and chalk and cuds of 
chewing gum, and so on; 

To have taught to them at home the 
meaning of patriotism, honor, truth, cour- 
age, respect for others’ rights, the use of 
good English, that two times two is always 
four and the price of money; 

To learn to laugh at themselves and to 
take a joke and a hard knock or a disap- 
pointment; 

To know the world of outdoors—the 
brooks and trees and birds and flowers 
personally, and in the books of Henri 
Fabre and such men; to meet those dare- 
devils Tom Mix and Bill Hart, and also the 
best people of history and literature—the 
Knights of the Round Table, Sir Philip 
Sidney, Arnold von Winkelried, Nathan 
Hale, the brave Crusoe and his parrot; 

To play at all hearty games and sports— 
pirate and Indian and coasting and ball and 
skating, and to go swimming in the old 
swimmin’ hole; 

And to be indulged in half holidays and 
red roast beef and pink ice cream and circus 
parades; and to be spanked— or the equiv- 
alent of justice administered, when neces- 
sary—and to be permitted an occasional 
green apple. 

I believe in the inalienable right of little 
boys to be greatly loved and cared for, and 
to have mothers—and fathers too—who 
are good pals. 

It all comes back to that—it’s the foun- 
dation of everything for a boy. 






















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—— 








THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 








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Exemplifying the Wadsworth art of fashioning cases 
for the leading watch movements 


It chanced one day in the fifth century B. C., that 
Callimachus, a famous Corinthian architect, 
passed by a maiden's tomb and noticed thereon 
a tile over which an acanthus plant had spread 
its foliage. 

Pleased with the beauty of the leafy contour, 
he copied it, and upon erecting « olumns at Corinth 
shortly after, capped them with his newly dis 
covered design. Thus, according to tradition, was 
the Corinthian capital conceived 

Adorning classic friezes, vases and bronzes, 
traced upon the works of gold and silver smith- 
craft, the acanthus leaf has lived through the suc 
ceeding ages~—it is ‘ ‘the leaf that never died.” 

Today, in the men’s and women’s cases shown 
above, Wadsworth artists have adapted this rare 
design so honored by the ancients. 

Whether the choice be a woman's wristlet, 
jewel-frosted or of chaste simplicity, a clean-lined 
strap or pocket watch for men, there will be found 
in the creations of the Wadsworth artists a case 
for every taste, a case for every purse 


THE WADSWORTH WATCH CASE 


Watch cases and watch movements are scarcely 
ever made by the same manufacturer 

The making of the movement requires the 
highest degree of mechanical skill. No lesser 
skill, however, is required of the case maker, for 
watch service and watch satisfaction depend in no 
small measure upon the proper casing of the 
delicate watch mechanism And to this skill 
must be added the artistry which makes the case 
a thing of beauty as well as utility 


Movement makers seldom make cases 
K K 


Thus it is that for thirty years leading manufac 
turers and importers have turned to Wadsworth 
for their cases. Many of the most beautiful, most 
popular designs with which you are acquainted 
are Wadsworth creations 


When you buy a watch, select a movement that 
your jeweler will recommend and have him 
dress" it in a Wadsworth case. The Wadsworth 
name is your assurance not only of correct design 
but of the finest in material and workmanship 


CO., CINCINNATI, OHIO 


Makers De watch cases exclusively 


Factories: 


FOR FINE 


WATCHES 


Dayton, Ky 


adsworth (cases, 






































































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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 












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January 1,192! 



























































The Maker’s Mark 
of Identification on 
Cooper's- Bennington Spring 
Needle Underwear and ‘‘ Allen 
A’’ Summer Wear for Men 
and Boys—all weights and 
fabricsfor every season of the 

year 
Black Cat Hesiery— Reinforced 
Silk, lisle, wool, cotton —for 


Men, Women and Children, 


Give your Confidence to the 
Merchant who Merits it 


MAN usually devotes about five 

minutes to buying underwear 
or hosiery. He finds what looks like 
the kind he wants. Matters of cut, 
fit, finish, brand and money’s worth 
are taken for granted. 

A merchant may well ask himself 
whether he always merits such im- 
plicit confidence! 

The typical stock of mixed brands 
and lots and qualities can not do it. 
Nor anything else but concentration 
on a standardized line—the same all 
through the range of weights and sizes; 
always the same in quality, wear and 
comfort, no matter what the market 
conditions. 


There is such a service. 


It is more than thirty years old. 


You can find it in thousands of 
stores. 


Its sign is the label of ‘*Allen A”’ 
—the new mark of the Maker’s iden- 
tification and responsibility on the 
celebrated Cooper’ s-Bennington Spring 
Needle Underwear and Black Cat 
Hosiery. 


**Allen,’’ the name of the Makers; 
their personal pledge of responsibility 
to you. And ‘‘A’’—the standard mark 
of first and finest grade. 


These famous lines come straight 
from the Mills to the Merchant. 


He deals with the Makers direct. 
He knows what he is offering you, 
and merits the confidence he asks 
from you. 


The Allen A Company 


Kenosha, Wisconsin 






























































































































THRILLS 


(Continued from Page 15) 


***Look here, Tom,’ I replied, ‘you have 
had four different motor cars in four years, 
each costing two thousand dollars or more. 
Your boy has driven them up and down the 
country roads every day and night; I 
know, for I have seen him. It costs at 
least fifteen cents a mile to run that kind 
of a car. You bought a thousand dollars’ 
worth of Liberty Bonds, fixed up your 
house, took a trip to Ohio — 

“*That is enough,’ he exclaimed; ‘I 
didn’t think of all those things.’ 

“That is the trouble with many pro- 
ducers—they fail to take into account the 
purchases and expenses they have been 
responsible for in these active days and 
which have no connection whatever with 
their crop raising. This is not saying that 
all farmers have made money, but I do con- 
tend that many exaggerate their situation.” 

The fact remains, however, that there is 
less interest in the back-to-the farm idea 
than a few years ago. The Government has 
in the 1920 census looked into the farm 
ownership and has just published its find- 
ings. The United States has 6,449,998 
farms, a “farm” meaning “land which is 
directly farmed by one person by his own 
labor alone or with assistance of members 
of his household or hired employees.”” The 
increase since 1910 is 88,496, or 1.4 per cent. 
In the decade preceding, the increase was 
624,130, or 10.9 per cent. The decrease in 
the number of farms in the leading agricul- 
tural states is startling. Illinois lost 14,719; 
Indiana, 10,361; Iowa, 3732; Kansas, 
12,554; Nebraska, 3369; Missouri, 14,120. 
The South and the Pacific Coast, including 
the far Northwest, made the gains. This 
means that land in the lead ng producing 
states is passing into larger ‘dings, with 
fewer residents directly dey t on the 


production of the soil. Fart. mtry in- 
creases and urban population . The 
younger generation evidently s ater 


profit in going to the city and w. ing in 
industrial or business or professional life. 


State Aid for Farmers 


In an effort to overcome this some West- 
ern states are undertaking on an extensive 
seale the financing of the landless farmers. 
Kansas at the November election adopted 
an amendment to its constitution author- 
izing the legislature to issue bonds or make 
appropriation for the purchase of land to be 
resold on long time to farmers who have no 
means. It is ae that thereby the 
tenantry of the farmland, now reaching to 
practically one-half the tilled area of the 
state, will be lessened. Oklahoma, through 
a statute ‘to encourage and promote land 
home ownership” becoming effective July 
1, 1920, has created a revolving fund of 
$250,000 to be loaned in sums not exceeding 
$2000 to those not owning more than forty 
acres of land to assist them in securing 
larger farms, payments to run over twenty 
years on the amortization plan. That state 
has since 1907 loaned its school fund on 
farmland security, with a maximum of 
$2500 to a borrower. It is placed at five 
per cent interest, a total of $14,484,387 
having been loaned, with only ten fore- 
closures and no losses, according to the 
secretary of the fund. When the new re- 
volving fund was available more than 6000 
applications were on file, indicating the de- 
sire of the tenant and the landless to obtain 
a foothold. South Dakota began in 1917 
with a revolving loan fund on asimilar plan, 
but limited only by the amount of bonds 
that could be sold. It has loaned at six 
and seven per cent $26,232,250, according 
to the board in charge; has 6254 loans out- 
standing; and 487 applications pending. 
The board states that it has met with no 
losses. 

These state movements indicate an 
earnest appreciation in the agricultural 





sections of the menace of increasing ten- 
antry and the desirability of having a 
larger farm population. To one conclusion 
have all come: An easier method must be 
provided for the skilled young farmer to 
procure a farm of his own. Available acre- 
age is not lacking, not necessarily acreage 
now untilled, for there is little such re- 
maining, but farms now worked poorly by 
tenants and producing less than they should 
and could. Concretely, this means the 
provision of capital at low rates for the 
purchase and equipment of such farms, op- 
portunity for ambitious land seekers to oper- 
ate farmsteads. It is accepted that tenant 
farmers, speaking generally, represent a 
much less capable class than these farm- 
reared young men, educated under their 
fathers’ tutelage, and are less likely or able 
to cultivate the acres according to the best 


methods or handle them in a businesslike | 


manner, bringing the soil to a more produc- 
tive state. Even if capable, there is for 
them little inducement to overexertion on 
another’s property, such as would exist 
were the land their own. 


Broader Markets Needed 


Undoubtedly the increased efficiency of 
the producer enables him to-day to care 
for more acres than in the old era of land 
and horse labor. He can with a tractor do 


the work of three teams, and there is a | 


corresponding tendency to take on a‘greater 
acreage. It used to be said that every 
farmer wants to buy all the land that joins 
his farm—and that is not much changed 
in these days. 

Idle acres are not visible; somebody 
must be tilling the soil, and the argument 
is sometimes heard that it is better to have 
a smaller rural population to support and 
so give a greater supply for the manufac- 
turing of raw material into commodities for 
the world’s use. 

This, of course, checks back immedi- 
ately to the need of a world market, and 
the producing country is intensely inter- 
ested in the development of our trade 
overseas. The producer has learned that 
the market for our products cannot be 
confined to our own shores, that the worker 
in the factory at Schenectady or Lynn 
must have a larger output field for his 
activities than America. The financial in- 
terests of the farm country are willing to 
help to the best of their ability to develop 
this market if they can be shown how. 
Their criticism has been for the past year 
that they were not certain just what could 
be done. 

Flour mills in the interior make ship- 
ments to Belgium, Holland, England, South 
America. They wish to enlarge this trade, 
thereby furnishing a demand for the prod- 
ucts of the land, and seek methods of ac- 
complishing it. 

he producer is commencing to realize 
that a large part of his output must move 
to distant lands. He is visualizing his load 
of wheat as it passes to the elevator, 








thence to the mill, then bumping for hun- 
dreds of miles in freight cars to seaboard, 
and finally on board ship bound for the far 
corners of the earth. The experience of the 
past year has taught him to think in terms 
of freight cars and to some degree in | 
terms of ships. As this larger horizon ex- 
tends it means a firmer grasp on the prin- 
ciples of price establishment and better 
understanding of exactly upon what his 
crop return depends. 

Though the halting progress of foreign 
trade has not been wholly responsible for 
the “‘producers’ strike’’ because of low 
price levels for his output, it has been a | 
factor, and he concedes it. The farm coun- 
try is in a more receptive mood to-day for | 
taking up the problem of establishing | 
foreign trade than at any time in its | 


THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


FOODSTUFFS AND FINANCIAL | 


























































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Closed car season is here. See your 


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Makers of Fine Tops for Automobiles 







































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CHICAGO 




















THE SATURDAY 


126 


‘Other fellows 





























Courtright 

have made a barrel — 

North 

of money out of Dakota 


Curtis work. Why 
not Hawley?” 

he asked 
himself. 


Now he earns 


$600000 a Year 


A few years ago Courtright Hawley was clerking in a 
small-town store in North Dakota. He’d seen our ad- 
vertisements in The Saturday Evening Post telling 
of the success of subscription representatives, so he 
wrote for our offer. ‘If other fellows are making barrels 
of money out of Curtis work,’’ he rightly reasoned, 
“why not Hawley?” He gave it a trial: now he earns 
six thousand Curtis deiteds every year. 


You Need No Experience 


Mr. Hawley found that it took him just one 
hour to earn his first five dollars the Curtis way. 
That’s a familiar story: beginners often write 
in to tell us that their first Curtis profits were 
the easiest money they ever earned. The reason 
is plain: The Saturday Evening Post, The 
Ladies’ Home Journal and The Country 
Gentleman are in demand everywhere; you 
have only to ask to obtain big subscription 
orders. From the very start we will pay you 
generous commissions and a liberal bonus, 
based on production, for the business you for- 
yard to us. You're bound to make money. 


Establish Yourself in a 


Permanent Prosperous Business 


Mr. Hawley and the other workers whose faces are 
shown at the left have built up for themselves an in- 





Silas Sheetz 
(North Carolina) 


$60.00 a Week 





Raymond Starr 
(California) 


$100.00 a Week 





dependent business that brings growing returns year 
after year. You can do as well. It is the policy of The 
Curtis Publishing Company, whenever possible, to 
appoint its full-time field circulation men only from 
its staff if you accept our 
offer you are in line for such a position, with a regular 
weekly salary and expense account. In the meantime 
you can take advantage of our spare-time plan to earn 
a helpful extra dollar. 


| 


of commission workers; 


Eller 
(Pe 
$300.00 a Month 


Mahaffey 


‘ee eeeennsa-----==-Clip and Mail Today ------------------ 
The Curtis Publishing Company 
898 Independence Square, Philadelphia, Penna. 


Gentlemen: Please send me, 
to subscription representatives. 


without obligation, full details about your offer 
I'd like to make more money. 








Name 


Street or R. F. D. 






Town State 





EVENING POST 


history. That it has confidence in the 
recovery of Europe is evidenced by its 
willingness to invest in foreign securities — 
to an extent felt by many bankers to be 
detrimental to our own industries, which so 
grievously need additional capital. How- 
ever, the effect may in the end be bene- 
ficial, if it will aid in bringing a larger trade 
area and in securing a foreign business re- 
vival. The insularity of earlier days has 
passed with the average producer; his 
vision has been enlarged by the events of 
the past four years and he sees not only 
his own community but the broad field of 
human endeavor as an influence in the 
progress of his own dreams. 

As we enter on the new year the producer 
is yet uncertain of events. Another wheat 
crop, aggregating practically as large an 
acreage as that of 1920, is coming on; 
spring will bring its call of the field. The 
old adage of the Western settler, “Times 
will be better in the spring,’”’ always holds 
good—so far as its psychological effect on 
humanity is concerned. 

But foresight is far less certain than 
hindsight. On December 31, 1919, twenty- 
three eminent financial authorities con- 
tributed to a New York financial paper 
their opinions in answer to the query: 
“What will be the course of commodity 
prices in 1920?” The answers read rather 
curiously in the light of events. Only two 
or three predicted a general and extensive 
decline of prices in the year; some foresaw 
a further rise; the highest authorities lim- 
ited their views to the opinion that “no 
further great rise is probable.”” Two emi- 
nent economists thought that “prices 
should begin to recede”’ and that “‘fluctua- 
tions around the present level’? would 
prevail. Not the least remarkable was the 
idea of those who forecast a decline that 
it would come by reason of probable 
contraction of European currencies. But 
Europe’s paper money has expanded enor- 


| mously and our own Federal Reserve bank 


circulation reached late in autumn the 
highest point in its history, nearly half a 
billion dollars greater than the year before. 
Yet the price level of commodities declined 
more than twenty per cent from March to 
November. 

The limit of the public’s endurance and 
the forced liquidation of loans in order 
that the banks might have funds with 
which to finance daily needs did what 
economists and financiers had not fore- 
seen—brought determining influences for 
deflation. 

Carried over from the past season is a 
vast store of foodstuffs, the greatest ever 


January 1,192¢ 


known, all yet to find its way to market. 
Basic nt * 5 the real largess of the soil, is 
waiting for the consumer's table. Whether 
it move slowly or rapidly, it must even- 
tually move—and when it does will begin 
the liquidation of the farm debt and the 
improvement of the financial condition of 
the agricultural states. Bankers generally 
believe that early spring, at latest, will see 
a change, especially if the growing wheat 
crop then promises well. 

Knowledge of this is the stabilizing in- 
fluence nolding steady the hopes and con- 
fidence of merchant and financier. Both 
have been disappointed in the trend of 
business, both have felt that they were 
carrying too great a portion of the burden 
and that it should have been more equably 
distributed between producer and business 
interests; but faith that eventually there 
would come a return to normal conditions 
has been maintained. 

Three facts have been impressed on the 
producer by the events of the past few 
months: That the economic law of supply 
and demand cannot be overcome: that the 
Federal Reserve system exists not for one 
class but for all; that after-war deflation 
must fall upon him as well as upon others 
Perhaps this last experience came to him 
earlier than *t should; but that is a matter 
beyond the regulation of any class. 

Doubtless we shall see many changes in 
the methods of marketing of foodstuffs 
Codperative selling is gaining ground. The 
producer, like the average retailer, can 
make his greatest profit by elimination of 
unnecessary expense, not by artificially 
forcing upward the price of his commodity 

With it all will be a clearer vision on the 
part of the consumer of the position occu- 
pied by the producer, growing out of the 
publicity in the campaign for a fair return 
in providing foodstuffs. Continuous war- 
time prices for food are as impossible as 
wartime prices for other commodities 
and this is being understood by those most 
concerned. 

The saving grace is that all through the 
farm country has continued a firm be''rf 
in the ultimate righting of things—either 
through bringing the price level of the 
farmer’s products up to the producer’s idea 
of fair return or through the lowering of 
his living expense to compensate for the 
decreased income. It is unlikely that we 
shall see in the coming year any such 
financial thrills as have accompanied the 
irregular marketing of the foodstuffs of 


1920; nor do the business or financial in 
terests desire ever to experience them 
again. 








IS fully protected by copyright. 


THE SATURDAY EVENING ‘POST 


The use of our articles or quotations from them 
for advertising promotions and stock-selling schemes is never authorized. 








Table of Contents 
January 1, 1921 


SHORT STORIES 


PAGE 
The Man Who— Lloyd Osbourne it¢e @ * 6 6S oe 
The Red Handed — Wil! Levington Comfort . ae ape see 8 
The Old Man—Albert Payson Terhune 12 
The Lieutenant of the Marble Venus—Sir Philip Gibbs . 16 
ARTICLES 
A Quest in Youbetcherland—IJrvin S. Cobb ah cher Gans tat 
The Mother and Her Boy— Mary Brecht Pulver 10 
She Drifted to the City— James H. Collins 11 
Foodstuffs and Financial Thrills—Charles Moreau Harger 14 
Alvaro Obregén: As Cabinet Minister—Dr. E. J. Dillon 23 
SERIALS 
The Wrong Twin— Harry Leon Wilson 18 
The Trouble With Women— Lucian Cary 20 
My Son—Corra Harris 24 
DEPARTMENTS 
Editorials <a 
Everybody’s Business— —Floyd W. Parsons 31 
Small-Town Stuff— Robert Quillen 43 














IMPORTANT NOTICE TO READERS: A Request for Change of Address must 
reach us at least thirty days before the date of the issue with which it is to take effect. 
Duplicate copies cannot be sent to replace those undelivered through failure to 
send such advance notice. Be sure to give your old address as well as the new one. 


























THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 127 









" ae handiest tool of all 


f 

Yes, dexterous, convenient —is ‘‘LePage’s”’ with 
its improved Tube and Spreader. It makes and 
mends. It helps you save and not spend. 
Stronger and better than nails even where nails 
will do. It has been doing the world’s “ fixing”’ 
for the past half-century. And costs so little! 








The Universal 
maker and mender 


VERY day you will fifid new uses for LePage’s inch square wooden joint, LePaged, is 2340 lbs, 
EK Glue. It goes a long way—apply little or LePage’s Glue with its ‘“‘can’t-be-lost’’ stopper 
much—and keeps to the last drop. It’s pure; will spreader is the one thing costing but a few 
not discolor the most delicate fabric; nothing pennies—and sold universally——that is an ever- 
like it for paper work; still it’s the strongest ready maker and mender—for the home, shop, 
adhesive known. The breaking tension of a one office, store—for any tool-box, anywhere, anytime. 


RUSSIA CEMENT COMPANY, Laboratory and Factory, GLOUCESTER, MASS 


+ 
é 6B. SE 








Making Picture Frames Repairing Furniture LePaging Screw in Ragged Hole In the Home Workshop 


Make your own frames and save When the constant strain on the legs A pulled-out screw that has lost its Hammer, screw-driver, gimlet; ali these 
money. In frame making nothing else of a rocking chair loosens them “only “thread-grip”’ can be made to hold, and tools have their uses, but LePage’s 
will do but glue—LePage’s—it’s the LePage’s will do” to hold them securely hold everlastingly, by LePaging the Glue will do a lot of work that none of 


strongest adhesive known in place screw before reinserting it these tools can do 





128 





THE SATURDAY EVENING POST 


January 1,192! 



































DVANCED electrical science, coupled with skill that has flourished 
for nearly a quarter of a century, combines in Robbins & Myers Motors 

to that pronounced reliability for which they are everywhere known. In 
factories and in countless thousands of American homes and offices, these 
compact and quiet sources of energy are daily demonstrating their sterling 
honesty of build. The best materials that retort and crucible can yield, the 
finest craftsmanship that can be summoned to the making of motors, are put 
without stint into every power unit that bears the Robbins & Myers name. 


4 





Made in Springfield, Ohio. — Brantford, Ontario. ~ 














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: . 12 
—absolutely essential if you would have a strong, vigorous 
body, free from ailments and be able to enjoy life indoors and 
out, summer and winter. § 





Unclean teeth breed tartar and film, and they in turn cause 
disease and decay. 





Modern dentistry can almost replace nature’s own perfection, 
but after long periods of neglect or ineffective cleansing 
methods it’s a costly and painful process. 













VIVOMINT offers a better, a more simple way to keep your Q 
teeth clean, sound and healthy— 


It Cleanses the Entire Mouth 
H as the Teeth are Brushed 


Ps 
" - 
‘Se SSSOOS: 





= * Dente 



















ty 
ty Brushing the teeth alone is not enough to keep them every inter-dental crevice, searching out and destroying i @ 
ry] clean. Many of the germs of tartar and decay come from the enemies of sound, healthy teeth. ° 
¢ secretions in the tiny folds of mouth membrane and Thus, the entire mouth is cleansed as well as the teeth. r 
* other places the tooth brush never reaches. That feeling of cleanliness and purity left after the use Tet 
2] How then can you get at them? of VIVOMINT is real. Get to know it, to recognize in ide . 
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